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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



JOHN GODFREY SAXE 



J^ousff Ijolu Ctiitton 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 



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AUG 6 1887 ' 
1-c. A, T^fO 

BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

1887 



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Copyright, 1859, 1861, 1866, 1868, 1872, 1873, and 1875, 

By JOHN G. SAXE, TICKNOR AND FIELDS, and 

JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. 

Copyright, 1882, 
By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. 

Copyright, 1887, 
By CHARLES G. SAXE. 



All rights reserved. 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE : 

BLECT R OTYPBD AND PRINTED BY 

H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY 



CONTENTS. 



>POEMS. 

The Poet's License 1 

Treasure in Heaven 1 

I 'm Growing Old 2 

The Story of Life 2 

My Castle in Spain ...... 2 

Spes est Vates 3 

The Gifts of the Gods .... 3 

The Old Chapel-Bell .... 4 

Compensation G 

The Old Man's Motto .... 6 

Maximilian 6 

Wishing 7 

The Way of the World ... 7 

A Poet's Elegy 8 

The Mourner a la Mode ... 8 

The Expected Ship 9 

The iHead and the Heart ... 9 

The Proud Miss MacBride . . 10 

The Masquerade l4 

My Familiar . 17 

Love and Law 17 

Rhyme of the Rail 19 

The Briefless Barrister .... 20 

Little Jerry, the Miller ... 20 

How Cyrus laid the Cable . . 21 

What has Become of the Gods . 22 

The Cold- Water Man .... 23 

Comic Miseries ..."... 24 

A Connubial Eclogue .... 24 

Some Pencil-Pictures .... 25 

Boys 27 

'The Superfluous Man .... 27 

Toujours les Femmes .... 28 

Girlhood 28 

The Cockney 29 

Captain Jones's Misadventure . 29 

Miralda 33 

Le Jardin Mabille 35 

The Beauty of Ballston ... 36 

When I Mean to Marry ... 37 

A Reflective Retrospect ... 37 

The Knowing Child 38 

Ideal and Real .39 



The Game of Life 40 

The Puzzled Census-Taker . . 41 

The Heart and the Liver ... 41 

About Husbands 41 

Where there's a Will there's a 

Way 42 

A Benedict's Appeal to a Bachelor 43 

The Ghost-Player 44 

" Do you Think he is Married ? " 44 

A College Reminiscence ... 45 

Early Rising 46 

The Lady Ann 46 

How the Money Goes .... 47 

Saint Jonathan 48 

Song of Saratoga 49 

Tale of a Dog 49 

The Jolly Mariner 51 

Tom Brown's Day in Gotham . 52 

Ye Tailyor-Man 55 

The Devil of Names .... 56 

Ye Pedagogue 58 

The Stammering Wife .... 58 

A Rhymed Epistle 59 

Town and Country 60 

The Family Man 61 

The Snake in the Glass ... 62 

Ne Crede Colori 62 

Clara to Cloe 63 

Cloe to Clara 63 

The Great Magician .... 64 

The Blarney Stone 65 

Ode to the Prince of Wales . .. 66 

Mothers-in-Law 66 

Nil Admirari 67 

The Coquette ....... 68 

Carmen Lsetum 68 

My Boyhood 71 

Post-Prandial Verses .... 71 

The Silver Wedding .... 72 

Looking out into the Night , . 72 

The Old Year and the New . . 73 

De Musa . 73 

Augusta . 74 

Roger Bontemps ...... 74 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



The King of Normandy ... 75 

The Hunter and the Milkmaid . 75 

The Poet to his Garret .... 76 

The Dinner 76 

Fools Incorrigible 77 

The Best of Husbands .... 77 

Advice to a Young Friend . . 78 

The Editor's Crime ..... 78 

Paddy's Ode to the Prince . . 80 

Love Poems. 

Would n't you Like to Kiiow ? . 81 

The Lover's Vision 81 

The Oath 82 

Unrest 82 

To my Love 82 

To Lesbia 83 

My Saxon Blonde 83 

Darling, Tell me Yes .... 83 

Time and Love 84 

Love's Calendar 85 

The Lawyer's Valentine ... 85 

A Reasonable Petition .... 85 

The Chapel of Two Saints . . 85 

The Little Maid and the Lawyer 86 

Drinking Song 86 

Ego et Echo 87 

The Maiden to the Moon ... 87 

Daisy Day 88 

A Summer Scene 88 

To a Beautiful Stranger ... 89 

Hercules Spinning 89 

How it Happened 89 

Exaudi Angelus 90 

Carl and I 90 

Do I Love Thee ? 90 

The Lover's Confession ... 90 

A Philosophical Query .... 91 

Lip-Service . . . . . . . . 91 

Leisure-Day Rhymes. 

Chorus of the Dryads .... 91 

Here and Hereafter . . . . . 92 

My Books 94 

Esse quam Videri 94 

The Dead Letter 95 

To a City Cousin about to be 

Married 95 

How to Woo and Win .... 96 

Parting Words 96 

Miserere Domine 97 

The Duke's Stratagem .... 97 

Tempora Mutantur 98 

A Charming Woman .... 99 

"Justine, you Love me not " . . 99 
"Be Good to Yourself" . , .100 
To a Bachelor Friend in the 

Country 100 

Love and Money 100 



Page 

Ode 101 

Part of an After -Dinner Speech 101 
Ode to the Legislature . . . .103 

Why: A Sonnet 104 

Laura 104 

Faiky Tales, Legends, and Ap- 
ologues. 
Father Pumpkin; or Always in 

Luck 105 

The King and the Cottager . .108 
The Youth and the Northwind 109 
The Blind Men and the Elephant 1 1 1 
The Treasure of Gold . . . .112 
The Nobleman, the Fisherman, 

and the Porter 114 

The Dervis and the King . . .115 
The Monarch and the Marquis 115 
The Caliph and the Cripple . .117 

The Ugly Aunt 119 

The Three Gifts 120 

The Wife's Revenge . . . .122 
The Dervis and his Enemies . .124 
Rampsinitus and the Robbers . 1 26 

^ Poor Tartar 128 

The Four Misfortunes . . . .129 
The Wandering Jew . . . .130 
The Three Good Days .... 131 
The Story of Echo ..... 132 
A Case of Conscience !. . . .133 
The Origin of Wine '. . . .134 
The Parrot of Nevers .... 134 
King Solomon and the Bees . . 138 
The Pious Brahmin and his 

Neighbors 139 

The Romance of Nick Van Stann 140 
The Fisherman and the Flounder 141 
How the Raven Became Black . 142 

Death and Cupid 143 

Love and Lucre 144 

Wisdom and Cunning . . . .144 
The Sultan and the Owls . . .145 
The Pin and the Needle . . .146 
Ben- Am mi and the Fairies . .147 
The Discontented Water-Carrier 148 
The Miller and his Advisers . .150 
Murillo and his Slave . . . .150 
Hassan and the Angel . . . .151 
Fables and Fairy Tales. 

The Two Angels 152 

The Gold-Fingered Brahmin . . 1 52 
The Farmer and the Magic Ring 153 
The Grumbling Peasants . . .154 
The Litiile Glass Shoe . . . .155 
The Rose and the Fairy . . .155 

The Two Sparrows 156 

Love and Care 156 

Death Insurance 157 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
The Cadi's Stratagem . . . .158 
The King's Astrologer . . . .158 

No Admittauce 159 

The Stray Camel 160 

Tjie Five Knaves 161 

The Ambitious Vine . . . .161 
Tliyrsis and Amaranth . . .162 

A Double Distress 162 

The Two Kings 163 

Jupiter and his Children . . . 164 

Nous et Vous 164 

The Fairy and the Three Wishes 165 

The Rival Queens 165 

Providence Impartial . . . .166 
The Vanity of Human Wishes . 166 

Just One Defect 167 

Love and Poetry 167 

Reason versus Custom .... 167 
The Sultan and the Ex- Vizier . 168 

The Two Friends 168 

Persevere and Prosper . . . .169 

Lake Saratoga 170 

The Impartial Judge . . . .170 
The Elephant's Sermon . . .171 

The Connoisseurs 171 

The Royal Concert 172 

The Barnyard Critics . . . .173 

The Fighting Cocks 173 

The Nightingale and the Organ . 174 

The Lizards 174 

Flint and Steel 175 

The Lace- Weavers 175 

The Sham Librarv 176 

The Goat and the" Horse . . .177 
The Turkey and the Crow . .177 
The Bee and the Cuckoo . . .178 
The Silkworm and the Caterpillar 178 



The Monkey-Showman . . . 


179 


Tlie Oil-Merchant's Ass . . 


179 


The Monkey-Tourist . . . 


179 


Fables and Legends of Mant: 




Countries. 




Love and Joy 


180 


The Two Church-Builders 


181 


The Wind and the Rose . . 


182 


The Beacon -Licht .... 


182 


King Eric's Triumph . . . 


183 


The Brahmin's Air-Castle . . 


184 


Reason and Vanity .... 


185 


Who shall Shut the Door ? . 


185 


How it Chanced 


185 


The Three Masks 


186 


The Ghost in Armor . . . 


187 


Tlie King and the Peasant 


189 


The Traveler and his Friends 


19Q 


The King's Favorite . , . 


190 


The Merchant ...,,. 


191 



The Force of Example . . . .192 
The Sheriff of Saumur . . . .192 

The Two Wallets 192 

The Great Crab 193 

Love and Folly 194 

Love Omnipotent 194 

The Philosopher and the Rustic 195 
The Gardener and the King . .196 
The Vision of the Faithful . . 197 

The Fairies' Gifts 197 

The Old General and his King .197 
Saint Verena and Satan . . .198 

The Spell of Circe 198 

The Two Graves 199 

King Pyrrhus and his Counselor 200 
The Farmer who Made his own 

Weather 200 

The Proxv Saint 201 

The Two'AVishes 201 

The Traveler and the Tempest . 201 
Past, Future, and Present . . . 202 

Satires. 

Progress 203 

The Money-King. 210 

Excerpts from Occasional 
Poems. 

El Dorado -217 

The Good Time Coming . . .217 

The Power-Press 218 

The Library 218 

The News 219 

The Editor's Sanctum . . . .219 

Translations and Paraphrases. 

The Origin of Love 220 

The Traveler and the Statue . . 221 

The King's Goblet 222 

The Goldsmith's Daughter . . 223 
The Good Dog of Brette . . . 224 

Thirteen at Table 225 

My Bald Head 225 

Girls ! Pass Along ! 226 

Much Love 226 

The Puppets 227 

The Pride of Beauty . . . .227 
Little Peter the Porter .... 228 
The Hen and the Honey-Bee . . 228 

Travesties. 

Icarus 229 

Pyramus and Thisbe .... 230 

The Choice of King Midas . . .232 
Phaethon ........ 233 

Polyphemus and Ulysses . . . 234 
Orpheus and Eurydice .... 236 

Jnpiter and Danae 237 

Venus and Vulcan 238 

Richard of Gloster 238 

Othello, the Moor 241 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Sonnets. 

Three Loves 243 

Mv Queen 243 

"With my Body I Thee Wor- 
ship" 244 

Pan Immortal 244 

The Beautiful 244 

Bereavement 244 

To my Wife on her Birthday . 245 

To Sprin,^ 245 

The Victim 245 

To 245 

To a Clara 246 

The Portrait 246 

Somewhere 246 

Change not Loss 246 

A la Pensee 247 

Absence 247 

Bienvenue 247 

Miserere 247 

Aquinas and the Bishop . . . 248 

The Dilemma 248 

The Parvenu's Opinion . . . .248 
The Grateful Preacher . . . .248 
The Ambitious Painter .... 249 

Epigrams. 

The Explanation 249 

Family Quarrels 249 

Teaching by Example .... 249 
A Common Alternative .... 249 

A Plain Case 250 

Over-Candid 250 

Never too Late to Mend . . . 250 
An Equivocal Apologv .... 250 
Too Candid by Half." . .-. .250 
On a Recent Classic Contro- 
versy 250 

Lucus a Non 250 



A Candid Candidate 251 

Nemo Repente Turpissimus . . 251 
On an Ill-Read Lawyer . . . .251 
Conjurgium uonConjugium . . 251 

Cheap Enough 251 

On an Ugly Person sitting for a 

Daguerreotype 251 

On a Famous Water-Suit . . . 251 

Kissing Casuistry 251 

To a Poetical Correspondent . . 251 
On a Long- Winded Orator. . . 252 

The Three Wives 252 

The Lost Character 252 

A Dilemma 252 

Epigrams prom the Latin op 

Martial. 
In Favor of making New Friends 252 

Maiden Manners 252 

On a Niggardly Fellow .... 253 

On a Miser 253 

On a Critic 253 

On a Quibbling Supplicant . . 253 

On a Coxcomb 253 

On a Quack Doctor . .... .253 

On a Litigious Man 253 

To a Borrowing Friend . . . 254 

On a Suicide 254 

On Cheap Purchasing .... 254 

On a Spendthrift 254 

To an Ugly Woman with a Sweet 

Voice 254 

The Truthful Pretender . . .254 
On a Rich Man's Country-Seat . 254 

Love Crowned 255 

On a Poor man of Extravagant 

Habits 255 

On Dining with Strangers . . 255 
Notes 257 



POEMS. 



THE POET'S LICENSE, 

The Poet's License ! — Some there are 

Who hold the false opinion 
'T is but a meagre privilege 

Confined to Art's dominion ; 
The right to rhyme quite unrestrained 

By certain rigid fetters 
Which bind the colder men of prose 

Within the realm of letters. 

Ah no ! — I deem 't is something more, 

And something vastly higher, 
To which the proudest bard on earth 

May worthily aspire. 
The Poet's License ! — 't is the right, 

Within the rule of duty, 
To look on all delightful things 

Throughout the world of beauty. 

To gaze with rapture at the stars 

That in the skies are glowing ; 
To see the gems of perfect dye 

That in the woods are growing, 
And more than sage astronomer, 

And more than learned florist, 
To read the glorious homilies 

Of Firmament and Forest. 

When Nature gives a gorgeous rose. 

Or yields the simplest fern. 
She writes this motto on the leaves, — 

" To whom it may concern ! " 
And so it is the poet comes 

And revels in her bowers, 
And, though another hold the land, 

Is owner of the flowers. 

0, nevermore let Ignorance 

With heedless iteration 
Repeat the phrase as meaning aught 

Of trivial estimation ; 
The Poet's License ! — 't is the fee 

Of earth and sky and river 



To him who views them royally, 
To have and hold forever ! 



TREASUEE IN HEAVEN. 

KESPECTFULLT DEDICATED TO GEORGE 
PEABODY, ESQ. 

" What I spent, I had ; what I left, 
I lost ; what I gave, I have I " 

Old Epitaph. 



Evert coin of earthly treasure 

We have lavished, upon earth. 
For our simple worldly pleasure. 

May be reckoned something worth ; 
For the spending was not losing. 

Though the purchase were but 
small ; 
It has perished with the using : 

We have had it, — that is all ! 



All the gold we leave behind us. 

When we turn to dust again 
(Though our avai'ice may blind us), 

We have gathered quite in vain ; 
Since we neither can direct it. 

By the winds of fortune tossed. 
Nor in other worlds expect it : 

What we hoarded, we have lost. 



But each merciful oblation — 

(Seed of pity wisely sown), 
What we gave in self-negation, 

We may safely call our own ; 
For the treasure freely given 

Is the treasure that we hoard. 
Since the angels keep in heaven 

What is lent unto the Lord ! 



MY CASTLE IN SPAIN. 



I 'M GROWING OLD. 

My days pass pleasantly away ; 
My nights are blest with sweetest 
sleep ; 
I feel no symptoms of decay ; 

I have no cause to mourn nor weep ; 
My foes are impotent and shy, 

My friends are neither false nor cold. 
And yet, of late, I often sigh, — 
I 'm growing old ! 

My growing talk of olden times, 
My growing thirst for early news, 

My growing apathy to rhymes. 
My growing love of easy shoes, 

My growing hate of crowds and noise. 
My growing fear of taking cold. 

All whisper, in the plainest voice, 
I 'm growing old ! 

I 'm growing fonder of my staff; 

I 'm growing dimmer in the eyes ; 
I 'm growing fainter in my laugh ; 

I 'm growing deeper in my sighs ;' 
I 'm growing careless of my dress ; 
I 'ra growing frugal of my gold ; 
I, 'm growing wise; I'm growing, — 
yes,— 

I 'm growing old ! 

I see it in my changing taste ; 

I see it in my changing hair ; 
I see it in my growing waist ; 

I see it in my growing heir ; 
A thousand signs proclaim the truth, 

As plain as truth was ever told. 
That, even in my vaunted youth, 
I 'm growing old ! 

Ah me ! my very laurels breathe 
The tale in my reluctant eai'S, 

And every boon the Hours bequeath 
But makes me debtor to the Years ! 

E'en Flattery's honeyed words declare 
The secret she would fain withhold, 

And tells me in " How young you are ! " 
I 'm growing old ! 

Thanks for the years ! — whose rapid 
flight 
My sombre Muse too sadly sings ; 
Thanks for the gleams of golden light 

That tint the darkness of their wings ; 
The light that beams from out the 
sky. 
Those heavenly mansions to unfold 



Where all are blest, and none may sigh, 
" I 'm growing old ! " 



THE STORY OF LIFE. 

Say, what is life ! 'T is to be born; 

A helpless Bahe, to greet the light 
With a sharp wail, as if the morn 

Foretold a cloudy noon and night ; 
To weep, to sleep, and weep again. 
With sunny smiles between; and then ? 

And then apace the infant grows 
To be a laughing, puling boy, 

Happy, despite his little woes. 

Were he but conscious of his joy ; 

To be, in short, from two to ten, 

A merry, moody Child ; and then ? 

And then, in coat and trousers clad. 
To learn to say the Decalogue, 

And break it ; an unthinking Lad, 
With mirth and mischief all agog ; 

A truant oft by field and fen 

To capture butterflies ; and then ? 

And then, increased in strength and 
size. 

To be, anon, a Youth full-grown ; 
A hero in his mother's eyes, 

A young Apollo in his own ; 
To imitate the ways of men 
In fashionable sins ; and then ? 

And then, at last, to be a Man ; 

To fall in love ; to woo and wed ; 
With seething brain to scheme and 
plan ; 

To gather gold, or toil for bread ; 
To sue for fame with tongue or pen. 
And gain or lose the prize ; and then ? 

And then in gray and wrinkled Eld 
To mourn the speed of life's decline ; 

To praise the scenes his youth beheld, 
And dwell in memory of Lang-Syne ; 

To dream awhile with darkened ken, 

Then drop into his grave ; and then ? 



MY CASTLE IN SPAIN. 

There 's a castle in Spain, very charm- 
ing to see. 
Though built without money or toil ; 



THE GIFTS OF THE GODS. 



Of this handsome estate I am owner in 

fee. 
And paramount lord of the soil ; 
And oft as I may I 'm accustomed to 

go 
And live, like a king, in my Spanish 

Chateau ! 

There 's a dame most bewitchingly 
rounded and ripe. 
Whose wishes are never absurd ; 

Who does n't object to my smoking a 
pipe, 
Nor insist on the ultimate word ; 

In short, she 's the pink of perfection, 
you know ; 

And she lives, like a queen, in my Span- 
ish Chateau ! 

I 've a family too ; the delightfulest 
girls, 
And a bevy of beautiful boys ; 

All quite the reverse of those juvenile 
churls 
Whose pleasure is mischief and noise ; 

No modern Cornelia might venture to 
show 

Such jewels as those in my Spanish Cha- 
teau ! 

I have servants who seek their content- 
ment in mine, 
And always mind what they are at ; 
Who never embezzle the sugar and wine, 

And slander the innocent cat ; 
Neither saucy, nor careless, nor stupidly 

slow 
Are the servants who wait in my Span- 
ish Chateau ! 

I have pleasant companions ; most affa- 
ble folk, 
And each with the heart of a brother ; 

Keen wits, who enjoy an antagonist's 
joke. 
And beauties who 're fond of each 
other ; 

Such people, indeed, as you never may 
know. 

Unless you should come to my Spanish 
Chateau ! 

I have friends, whose commission for 
wearing the name 
In kindness unfailing is shown ; 
Who pay to another the duty they 
claim, 
And deem his successes their own ; 



Who joy in his gladness, and weep at 

his woe i 
You '11 find them (where else?) in my 

Spanish Chateau ! 

" si sic semper ! " I oftentimes say 
(Though 't is idle, I know, to com- 
plain). 

To think that again I must force me 
away 
Erom my beautiful castle in Spain ! 

Ah ! would that my stars had deter- 
mined it so 

I might live the year round in my Span- 
ish Chateau ! 



SPES EST VATES. 

There is a saying of the ancient sages : 

No noble human thought, 
However buried in the dust of ages, 

Can ever come to naught. 

With kindred faith, that knows no base 
dejection. 

Beyond the sages' scope 
I see, afar, the final resurrection 

Of every glorious hope. 

I see, as parcel of a new creation, 

The beatific hour 
When every bud of lofty aspiration 

Shall blossom into flower. 

We are not mocked ; it was not in de- 
rision 
God made our spirits free ; 
The poet's dreams are but the dim pre- 
vision 
Of blessings that shall be, — 

When they who lovingly have hoped 
and trusted, 
Despite some transient fears, 
Shall see Life's jarring elements ad- 
justed. 
And rounded into spheres ! 



THE GIFTS OF THE GODS. 

The saying is wise, though it sounds 
like a jest, 
That " The gods don't allow us to be 
in their debt," 



THE OLD CHAPEL-BELL. 



For though we may think we are spe- 
cially blest, 
We are certain to pay for (he favors 
we get ! 

Are Riches the boon ? Nay, be not 
elate ; 
The final account is n't settled as 
yet; 
Old Care has a mortgage on every es- 
tate, 
And that 's what you pay for the 
wealth that you get ! 

Is Honor the prize 1 It were easy to 
name 
What sorrows and perils her pathway 
beset ; 
Grim Hate and Detraction accompany 
Fame, 
And that 's what you pay for the 
honor you get ! 

Is Learning a treasure 1 How charm- 
ing the pair 
When Talent and Culture are lov- 
ingly met ; 
But L»bor unceasing is grievous to 
bear, 
And that 's what you pay for the 
learning you get ! 

Is Genius worth having ? There is n't 
a doubt ; 
And yet what a price on the blessing 
is set, — 
To suffer more with it than dunces 
without. 
And that 's what you pay for the 
genius you get ! 

Is Beauty a blessing ? To have it for 
nought 
The gods never grant to their veriest 
pet; 
Pale Envy reminds you the jewel is 
bought, 
And that 's what you pay for the 
beauty you get ! 

But Pleasure ? Alas ! — how prolific 
of pain ! 
Gay Pleasure is followed by gloomy 
Eegret ; 
And often Repentance is one of her 
train. 
And that 's what you pay for the 
pleasure you get! 



But surely in Friendship we all may 
secure 
An excellent gift ; never doubt it, — 
and yet 
With much to enjoy there is much to 
endure. 
And that 's w^hat we pay for the 
friendship we get ! 

But then there is Love ? — Nay, speak 
not too soon ; 
The fondest of hearts may have rea- 
son to fret ; 
For Fear and Bereavement attend on 
the boon. 
And that 's what we pay for the love 
that we get ! 

And thus it appears — though it sounds 
like a jest — 
The gods don't allow us to be in their 
debt; 
And though we may think we are spe- 
cially blest. 
We are certain to pay for whatever 
we get ! 



THE OLD CHAPEL-BELL. 

A BALLAD. 

Within a churchyard's sacred ground, 

Whose fading tablets tell 
Where they who built the village chui'ch 

In solemn silence dwell. 
Half hidden in the earth, there lies 

An ancient Chapel-Bell. 

Broken, decayed, and covered o'er 
With mouldering leaves and rust ; 

Its very name and date concealed 
Beneath a cankering crust ; 

Foi-gotten, — like its early friends, 
Who sleep in neighboring dust. 

Yet it was once a trusty Bell, 

Of most sonorous lung. 
And many a joyous wedding-peal 

And many a knell had rung, 
Ere Time had cracked its brazen sides. 

And broke its iron tongue. 

And many a youthful heart had danced, 

In merry Christmas-time, 
To hear its pleasant roundelay, 

Sung out iu ringing rhyme ; 



TEE OLD CHAPEL-BELL. 



And many a worldly thought been 
checked 
To list its sabbath chime. 

A youth — a bright and happy boy — 

One sultry summer's day, 
Aweary of his bat and ball, 

Chauced hitherward to stray, 
To read a little book he had. 

And rest him from his play. 

" A soft and shady spot is this ! " 

The rosy youngster cried. 
And sat him down beneath a tree, 

That ancient Bell beside ; 
(But, hidden in the tangled grass, 

The Bell he ne'er espied.) 

Anon, a mist fell on his book. 

The letters seemed to stir, 
And though, full oft, his flagging 
sight 

The boy essayed to spur. 
The mazy page was quickly lost 

Beneath a cloudy blur. 

And while he marveled much at this, 
And wondered how it came, 

He felt a languor creeping o'er 
His young and weary frame, 

And heard a voice, a gentle voice, 
That plainly spoke his name. 

That gentle voice that named his name 

Entranced him like a spell 
Upon his ear so very near 

And suddenly it fell. 
Yet soft and musical, as 't were 

The whisper of a bell. 

" Since last I spoke," the voice began, 
" Seems many a dreary year ! 

(Albeit, 't is only since thy birth 
I've lain neglected here ! ) 

Pray list, while I rehearse a tale 
Behooves thee much to hear. 

" Once, from yon ivied tower, I watched 

The villagers around. 
And gave to all their joys and griefs 

A sympathetic sound, — 
But most are sleeping, now, within 

This consecrated ground. 

"I used to ring my merriest peal 
To hail the blushing bride ; 

I sadly tolled for men cut down 
In strength and manly pride ; 



And solemnly, — not mournfully, — . 
When little children died. 

" But, chief, my duty was to bid 

The villagers repair. 
On each returning sabbath morn 

Unto the House of Prayer, 
And in his own appointed place 

The Saviour's mercy share. 

"Ah ! well I mind me of a child, 

A gleesome, happy maid. 
Who came, with constant step, to 
church. 

In comely garb arrayed. 
And knelt her down full solemnly. 

And penitently prayed. 

" And oft, when church was done, I 
marked 

That little maiden near 
This pleasant spot, with book in hand, 

As you are sitting here, — 
She read the Story of the Cross, 

And wept with grief sincere. 

" Years rolled away, — and I beheld 
The child to woman grown ; 

Her cheek was fairer, and her eye 
With brighter lustre shone ; 

But childhood's truth and innocence 
Were still the maiden's own. 

" I never rang a merrier peal 

Than when, a joyous bride. 
She stood beneath the sacred porch, 

A noble youth beside. 
And plighted him her maiden troth. 

In maiden love and pride. 

" I never tolled a deeper knell. 

Than when, in after years, 
They laid her in the churchyard here. 

Where this low mound appears, — 
(The very grave, my boy, that you 

Are watering now with tears !) 

" It is thy mother ! gentle boy. 
That claims this tale of mine, — 

Thou art a flower whose fatal birth 
Destroyed the parent vine ! 

A precious flower art thou, my child, — 

"Two LIVES WERE GIVEN FOR THINE ! 

"One was thy sainted mother's, when 
She gave thee mortal birth ; 

And one thy Saviour's, when in death 
He shook the solid earth ; 



MAXIMILIAN. 



Go ! boy, and live as may befit 
Thy life's exceeding worth ! " 

The boy awoke, as from a dream. 
And, thoughtful, looked around, 

But nothing saw, save at his feet 
His mother's lowly mound, 

And by its side that ancient Bell, 
Half hidden in the ground ! 



COMPENSATION. 



When once, in " Merrie England," 

A prisoner of state 
Stood waiting death or exile, 

Submissive to his fate. 
He made this famous answer, — 
" Si longa, levis ; 
Si dura, brevis ; 

Go tell your tyrant chief, 
Long pains are light ones, 

Cruel ones are brief ! " 



Alas ! we all are culprits ; 

Our bodies doomed to bear 
Discomforts and diseases, 

And none may 'scape his share ,° 
But God in pity orders, 
Si longa, levis ; 
Si dura, brevis ; 

He grants us this relief. 
Long pains are light ones. 

Cruel ones are brief. 



Nor less the mind must suffer 

Its weight of care and woe. 
Afflictions and bereavements 

Itself can only know ; 
But let us still remember, 
Si longa, levis ; 
Si dura, brevis ; 

To moderate our grief, — 
Long pains are light ones. 

Cruel ones are brief. 



THE OLD MAN'S MOTTO. 

"Give me a motto ! " said a youth 
To one whom years had rendered 
wise ; 



" Some pleasant thought, or weighty 
truth, 
That briefest syllables comprise ; 
Some word of warning or of cheer 
To grave upon my signet here. 

" And, reverend father," said the boy, 
" Since life, they say, is ever made 

A mingled web of grief and joy. 

Since cares may come and pleasures 
fade, — 

Pray, let the motto have a range 

Of meaning matching every change." 

" Sooth ! " said the sire, " methinks you 
ask 

A labor something over-nice, 
That well a finer brain might task. 

What think you, lad, of this device 
(Older than I, though I am gray), 
'T is simple, — ' This will pass away ' ? 

" When wafted on by Fortune's breeze. 
In endless peace thou seem'st to 
glide. 

Prepare betimes fof rougher seas. 

And check the boast of foolish pride ; 

Though smiling joy is thine to-day. 

Remember, ' This will pass away ! ' 

" When all the sky is draped in black, 
And, beaten by tempestuous gales. 

Thy shuddering ship seems all a- 
wrack. 
Then trim again thy tattered sails ; 

To grim Despair be not a prey ; 

Bethink thee, ' This will pass away ! ' 

" Thus, O my son, be not o'er-proud. 
Nor yet cast down ; judge thou 
aright ; 

When skies are clear, expect the cloud ; 
In darkness, wait the coming light ; 

Whatever be thy fate to-day, 

Remember, ' This will pass away ! ' " 



MAXIMILIAN. 

Not with a craven spirit he 
Submitted to the harsh decree 
That bade hiro die before his time. 
Cut off in manhood's golden prime, — 
Poor Maximilian ! 

And some who marked his noble mien. 
His dauntless heart, his soul serene, 



THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 



Have deemed they saw a martyr die, 
Aud chorused forth the solemn cry, 
" Great Maximilian ! " 

Alas ! Ambition was his sin ; 
He staked his life a throne to win ; 
Counted amiss the fearful cost 
(As chiefs have done before), — and lost ! 
Rash Maximilian ! 

'T is not the victim's tragic fate. 
Nor calm endurance, makes him great ; 
Mere lust of empire and renown 
Can never claim the martyr's crown, 
Brave Maximilian ! 

Alas ! it fell, that, in thy aim 
To win a sovereign's power and fame. 
Thy better nature lost its force. 
And royal crimes disgraced thy course. 
King Maximilian ! 

Alas ! what ground for mercy's plea 
lu his behalf, whose fell decree 
Gave soldiers unto felons' graves, 
Aud freemen to the doom of slaves, — 
Fierce Maximilian 1 

I loathe the rude, barbaric wrath 
That slew thee in thy vent'rous path ; 
But " they who take," thus saith the 

Lord, 
" Shall also perish by the sword," 
Doomed Maximilian ! 

But, when I tliinli upon the scene, — 
Thy fearful fate, thy wretched queen, — 
And mark how bravely thou didst die, 
I breathe again the pitying sigh, 

" Poor Maximilian ! " 



WISHING. 

Of all amusements for the mind, 

From logic down to fishing, 
There is n't one that you can find 

So very cheap as " wishing." 
A very choice diversion too. 

If we but rightly use it, 
And not, as we are apt to do. 

Pervert it, aud abuse it. 

I wish, — a common wish, indeed, — 
My purse were somewhat fatter, 

That I might cheer the child of need. 
And not jny pride to flatter ; 



That I might make Oppression reel. 

As only gold can make it. 
And break the Tyrant's rod of steel, 

As only gold can break it. 

I wish — that Sympathy and Love, 

And every human passion 
That has its origin above, 

Would come and keep in fashion ; 
That Scorn, and Jealousy, and Hate, 

And every base emotion. 
Were buried fifty fathom deep 

Beneath the waves of Ocean ! 

I wish — that friends were always true. 

And motives always pure ; 
I wish the good were not so few, 

I wish the bad were fewer ; 
I wish that parsons ne'er forgot 

To heed their pious teaching ; 
I wish that practicing was not 

So different from preaching ! 

I wish — that modest worth might be 

Appraised with truth and candor ; 
I wish that innocence were free 

From treachery and slander ; 
I wish that men their vows would mind ; 

That women ne'er were rovers ; 
I wish that wives were always kind. 

And husbands always lovers ! 

I wish — in fine — that Joy and Mirth, 

And every good Ideal, 
May come erewhile, throughout the 
earth, 

To be the glorious Real ; 
Till God shall every creature bless 

With his supremest blessing, 
And Hope be lost in Happiness, 

And wishing in Possessing ! 



THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 



A YOUTH would marry a maiden, 

For fair and fond was she ; 
But she was rich, and he was poor. 
And so it might not be. 
A ladij never could wear — 

Her mother held it firm — 
A goion that came of an India 
plant, 
Instead of an India icorm. — 
And so the cruel word was spoken ; 
And so it was two hearts were broken. 



THE MOURNER A LA MODE. 



A youth would marry a maiden, 

For fair and fond was she ; 
But he was high and she was low, 
And so it might not be. 

A man who had worn a spur, 

In ancient battle won, 
Had sent it down with great re- 
nown, 
To goad his future son ! — 
And so the cruel word was spoken ; 
And so it was two hearts were broken. 



A youth would marry a maiden. 

For fair and fond was she ; 
But their sires disputed about the 
Mass, 
And so it might not be. 
A couple of wicked kings, 

Three hundred years agone. 
Had played at a royal game of chess. 
And the Church had been a 
pawn ! — 
And so the cruel word was spoken ; 
And so it was two hearts were broken. 



A POET'S ELEGY. 

Here rests, at last, from worldly care 
and strife, 
A gentle man-of-rhyme, 
Not all unknown to fame, — whose lays 
and life 
Fell short of the sublime. 

Yet, as his poems ('t was the critics' 
praise) 
Betrayed a careful mind, 
His life, with less of license than his 
lays. 
To Virtue was inclined. 

Wliate'er of Wit the kindly Muse sup- 
plied 
He ever strove to bend 
To Folly's hurt ; nor once with wanton 
pride 
Employed to pain a friend. 

He loved a qviip, but in his jesting vein 

With studious care effaced 
The doubtful word that threatened to 
profane 

The sacred or the chaste. 



He loathed the covert, diabolic jeer 
That conscience undermines ; 

No hinted sacrilege nor skeptic sneer 
Lurks in his laughing lines. 

With satire's sword to pierce the false 
and wrong ; 
A ballad to invent 
That bore a wholesome sermon in the 
song, — 
Such was the poet's bent. 

In social converse, " happy as a king." 

When colder men refrained 
From daring flights, he gave his fancy 
wing 

And freedom unrestrained. 

And golden thoughts, at times, — a mot- 
ley brood, — 
Came flashing from the mine ; 
And fools who saw him in his merry 
mood 
Accused the untasted wine. 

He valued friendship's favor more than 
fame, 
And paid his social dues ; 
He loved his Art, — bat held his manly 
name 
Far dearer than his Muse. 

And partial friends, while gayly laugh- 
ing o'er 
The merry lines they quote. 
Say with a sigh, "To us the man was 
more 
Than aught he ever wrote ! " 



,THE MOURNER A LA MODE. 

I SAW her last night at a party 

(The elegant party at Mead's), 
And loolving remarkably hearty 

For a widow so young in her weeds ; 
Yet I know she was suffering sorrow 

Too deep for the tongue to express, — 
Or why had she choseu to borrow 

So much from the language of dress ? 

Her shawl was as sable as night ; 

And her gloves were as dark as her 
shawl ; 
And her jewels — that flashed in the 
light — 
Were black as a funeral pall ; 



THE HEAD AND THE HEART. 



Her robe had the hue of the rest, 
(How nicely it fitted her shape !) 

And the grief that was heaving her 
breast 
Boiled over in billows of crape ! 

What tears of vicarious woe, 

That else might have sullied her face, 
Were kindly permitted to flow 

In ripples of ebony lace ! 
While even her fan, in its play, 

Had quite a lugubrious scope. 
And seemed to be waving away 

The ghost of the angel of Hope ! 

Yet rich as the robes of a queen 

Was the sombre apparel she wore ; 
I 'm certain I never had seen 

Such a sumptuous sorrow before ; 
And I could n't help thinking the beauty, 

In mourning the loved and the lost, 
Was doing her conjugal duty 

Altogether regardless of cost ! 

One surely would say a devotion 

Performed at so vast an expense 
Betrayed an excess of emotion 

That was really something immense ; 
And yet as I viewed, at my leisure. 

Those tokens of tender regard, 
I thought : — It is scarce without meas- 
ure — 

The sorrow that goes by the yard ! 

Ah ! grief is a curious passion ; 

And yours — I am sorely afraid 
The very next phase of the fashion 

Will find it beginning to fade ; 
Though dark are the shadows of grief. 

The morning will follow the night. 
Half-tints will betoken relief, 

Till joy shall be symboled in white ! 

Ah well ! it were idle to quarrel 

With Fashion, or aught she may do ; 
And so I conclude with a moral 

And metaphor — warranted new : — 
When measles come handsomely out. 

The patient is safest, they say ; 
And the Sorrow is mildest, no doubt. 

That works in a similar way ! 



THE EXPECTED SHIP. 

Thus I heard a poet say. 
As he sang in merry glee, 



" Ah ! 't will be a golden day. 

When my ship comes o'er the sea ! 

"I do know a cottage fine. 
As a poet's house should be, 

And the cottage shall be mine, 
When my ship comes o'er the sea ! 

" I do know a maiden fair. 
Pair, and fond, and dear to me, 

And we '11 be a wedded pair, 

When my ship comes o'er the sea ! 

" And within that cottage fine, 

Blest as any king may be, 
Every pleasure shall be mine. 

When my ship comes o'er the sea ! 

" To be rich is to be great ; 

Love is only for the free ; 
Grant me patience, while I wait 

Till my ship comes o'er the sea ! " 

Months and years have come and gone 

Since the poet sang to me. 
Yet he still keeps hoping on 

For the ship from o'er the sea ! 

Thus the siren voice of Hope 
Whispers still to you and me 

Of something in the future's scope. 
Some golden ship from o'er the sea ! 

Never sailor yet hath found, 
Looking windward or to lee, 

Any vessel homeward bound, 
Like that ship from o'er the sea ! 

Never comes the shining deck ; 

But that tiny cloud may be — 
Thoiigh it seems the merest speck — 

The promised ship from o'er the 
sea! 

Never looms the swelling sail. 
But the wind is blowing free. 

And that may be the precious gale 
That brings the ship from o'er the 
sea ! 



THE HEAD AND THE HEAET. 

The head is stately, calm, and wise. 

And bears a princely part ; 
And down below in secret lies 

The warm, impulsive heart. 



10 



THE PROUD MISS MAC BRIDE. 



The lordly head that sits above, 
The heart that beats below. 

Their several office plaiuly prove. 
Their true relation show. 

The head, erect, serene, and cool, 
Endowed with Reason's art. 

Was set aloft to guide and rule 
The throbbing, wayward heart. 

And from the head, as from the higher, 
Comes every glorious thought ; 

And in the heart's transforming fire 
All noble deeds are wrought. 

Yet each is best when both unite 
To make the man complete ; 

What were the heat without the light ? 
The light, without the heat 1 



THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE. 



A LEGEND OP GOTHAM. 



O, TERRIBLY proud was Miss Mac- 
Bride, 
The very personification of Pride, 
As she minced along in Fashion's tide, 
Adown Broadway, — on the proper 
side, — 
When the golden sun was setting ; 
There was pride in the head she carried 

so high, 
Pride in her lip, and pride in her eye. 
And a world of pride in the very sigh 
That her stately bosom was fretting ; 



A sigh that a pair of elegant feet, 
Sandaled in satin, should kiss the 

street, — 
The very same that the vulgar greet 
In common leather not over " neat," — 

For such is the common booting ; 
(And Christian tears may well be shed. 
That even among our gentlemen bred, 
Tlie glorious day of Morocco is dead. 
And Day and Martin are reigning in- 
stead. 

On a much inferior footing ! ) 



0, terribly proud was Miss MacBride, 
Proud of her beauty, and proud of her 
pride, 



And proud of fifty matters beside, 

That would n't have borne dissection ; 
Proud of her wit, and proud of her 

walk. 
Proud of her teeth, and proud of her 

talk, 
Proud of " knowing cheese from chalk," 
On a very slight inspection ! 



Proud abroad, and proud at home. 
Proud wherever she chanced to come. 
When she was glad, and when she was 
glum ; 

Proud as the head of a Saracen 
Over the door of a tippling shop ! — 
Proud as a duchess, proud as a fop, 
" Proud as a boy with a bran-new top," 

Proud beyond comparison ! 



It seems a singular thing to say, 
But her very senses led her astray 

Respecting all humility ; 
In sooth, her dull auricular drum 
Could find in Humble only a " hum," 
And heard no sound of " gentle " come. 

In talking about gentility. 



What Lowly meant she did n't know, 
For she always avoided "everything 
low," 

With care the most punctilious, 
And queerer stiU, the audible sound 
Of " super-silly " she never had found 

In the adjective supercilious! 



The meaning of Meek she never knew. 
But imagined the phrase had something 

to do 
With " Moses," — a peddling German 

Jew, 
Who, like all hawkers the country 
through, 
Was a person of no position ; 
And it seemed to her exceedingly plain, 
If the word was I'eally known to pertain 
To a vulgar German, it was n't ger- 
mane 
To a lady of high condition ! 



Even her graces, — not her grace, 
For that was in the " vocative case," — 
Chilled with the touch of her icy face, 
Sat very stiffly upon her ; 



THE PROUD MISS MAC BRIDE. 



11 



She never confessed a favor aloud, 
Like oue of the simple, commou crowd, 
But coldly smiled, aud faiutly bowed, 
As who should say : " You do me proud, 
And do yourself an honor ! " 



And yet the pride of Miss MacBride, 
Although it had fifty hobbies to ride, 

Had really no foundation ; 
But, like the fabrics that gossips de- 
vise, — 
Those single stories that often arise 
And grow till they reach a four-story 
size. 
Was merely a fancy creation ! 



'T is a curious fact as ever was known 
In human nature, but often shown 

Alike in castle and cottage. 
That pride, like pigs of a certain breed, 
Will manage to live and thrive on 
" feed " 

As poor as a pauper's pottage ! 



That her wit should never have made 

her vain. 
Was, like her face, sufficiently plain; 

And as to her musical powers. 
Although she sang until she was hoarse. 
And issued notes witli a Banker's force, 
They were just such notes as we never 
indorse 
Tor any acquaintance of ours ! 



Her birth, indeed, was uncommonly 

high, 
For Miss MacBride fii'st opened her eye 
Through a skylight dim, on the light of 
the sky ; 
But pride is a curious passion. 
And in talking about her wealth and 

worth 
She always forgot to mention her birth, 
To people of rank and fashion ! 



Of all the notable things on earth, 
The queerest one is pride of birth, 

Among our " fierce Democracie " ! 
A bridge across a hundred years. 
Without a prop to save it from sneers, — 
Not even a coujjle of rotten Peers, — 
A thing for laughter, fleers, and jeers, 

Is American aristocracy ! 



English and Irish, French and Spanish, 
German, Italian, Dutch, and Danish, 
Crossing their veins until they vanisli 

In one conglomeration ! 
So subtle a tangle of Blood, indeed. 
No modern Harvey will ever succeed 

In finding the circulation ! 



Depend upon it, my snobbish friend, 
Your family thread you can't ascend, 
Without good reason to apprehend 
You may find it waxed at the farther 
end 

By some plebeian vocation ; 
Or, worse than that, your boasted Line 
May end in a loop of stronger twine. 

That plagued some worthy relation ! 

XVI. 

But Miss MacBride had something be- 
side 

Her lofty birth to nourish her pride ; 

For rich was the old paternal MacBride, 
According to public rumor; 

And he lived " Up Town," in a splendid 
square, 

And kept his daughter on dainty fare. 

And gave her gems that were rich and 
rare. 

And the finest rings and things to wear. 
And feathers enough to plume her ! 

XVII. 

An honest mechanic was John Mac- 
Bride 
As ever an honest calling plied, 

Or graced an honest ditty ; 
For John had worked, in his early day. 
In " Pots and Pearls," the legends say. 
And kept a shop with a rich array 
Of things in the soap aud candle way, 

In the lower part of the city. 



No rara avis was honest John 

(That 's the Latin for " sable swan "), 

Though, in one of his fancy flashes, 
A wicked wag, who meant to deride, 
Called honest John " Old Phccnix i\Iac- 
Bride, 

Because he rose from his ashes ! " 

XIX. 

Alack ! for many ambitious beaux ! 
She hung their hopes upon her nose, 



12 



THE PROUD MISS MAC BRIDE. 



(The figure is quite Horatian !) * 
Until from habit the member grew 
As queer a thing as ever you knew 

Turn up to observation ! 



A thriving tailor begged her hand, 
But she gave "the fellow" to under- 
stand. 
By a violent manual action. 
She perfectly scorned the best of his 

clan, 
And reckoned the ninth of any man 
An exceedingly Vulgar Fraction ! 



Another, whose sign was a golden boot, 
Was mortified with a bootless suit. 

In a way that was quite appalling ; 
For though a regular sutor by trade. 
He was n't a suitor to suit the maid, 
Who cut him off with a saw, — and bade 

" The cobbler keep to his calling." 

XXII. 

(The Muse must let a secret out, — 
There is n't the faintest shadow of doubt 
That folks Avho oftenest sneer and flout 

At " the dirty, low mechanicals," 
Are they whose sires, by pounding their 

knees, 
Or coiling their legs, or trades like these. 
Contrived to win their children ease 

From poverty's galling manacles.) 



A rich tobacconist comes and sues. 
And, thinking the lady would scarce 

refuse 
A man of his wealth and liberal views. 
Began, at once, with, " If you choose, — 

And could you really love him " — 
But the lady spoiled his speech in a 

huff. 
With an answer rough and ready 

enough. 
To let him know she was up to snuff, 
And altogether above him ! 

XXIV. 

A young attorney of winning grace 
Was scarce allowed to "open his face," 
Ere Miss MacBride had closed his case 

With true judicial celerity ; 
For the lawyer was poor, and " seedy" 
to boot, 

* " Omnia suspendens naso." 



And to say the lady discarded his suit, ' 
Is merely a double verity. 

XXV. 

The last of those who came to court 
Was a lively beau of the dapper sort, 
"Without any visible means of sup- 
port," — 

A crime by no means flagrant 
In one who wears an elegant coat. 
But the very point on which they vote 

A ragged fellow " a vagrant." 

XXVI. 

A courtly fellow was Dapper Jim, 
Sleek and supple, and tall and trim. 
And smooth of tongue as neat of limb; 

And, maugre his meagre pocket, 
You 'd say, from the glittering tales he 

told. 
That Jim had slept in a cradle of gold. 

With Fortunatus to rock it ! 



Now Dapper Jim his courtship plied 
(I wish the fact could be deuied) 
With an eye to the purse of the old 
MacBride, 

And really " nothing shorter " ! 
For he said to himself, in his greedy lust, 
" Whenever he dies, — as die he must, — 
And yields to Heaven his vital trust, 
He 's very sure to ' come down with his 
dust,' — 

In behalf of his only daughter." 



And the very magnificent Miss Mac- 
Bride, 
Half in love and half in pride, 

Quite graciously relented ; 
And tossing her head, and turning her 

back. 
No token of proper pride to lack, 
To be a Bride without the " Mac," 
With much disdain, consented. 



Alas ! that people who 've got their box 
Of cash beneath the best of locks. 
Secure from all financial shocks. 
Should stock their fancy with fancy 

stocks. 
And madly rush upon Wall Street 

rocks, 
Without the least apology ; 
Alas ! that people whose money affairs 
Are sound beyond all need of repairs. 



THE PROUD MISS MACBRIDE. 



13 



Should ever tempt the bulls and bears 
Of Mammon's fierce Zoology ! 



Old John MacBride, one fatal day, 
Became the unresisting prey 

Of Fortune's undertakers ; 
And staking his all on a single die, 
His foundered bark went high and dry 

Among* the brokers and breakers ! 



At his trade again in the very shop 
Where, years before, he let it drop, 

He follows his ancient calling, — 
Cheerily, too, in poverty's spite. 
And sleeping quite as sound at night. 
As when, at Foi'tnne's giddy height, 
He used to wake with a dizzy fright 

From a dismal dream of falling. 

XXXII. 

But alas for the haughty Miss Mac- 
Bride ! 

'T was such a shock to her precious 
pride. 

She could n't recover, although she tried 
Her jaded spirits to rally ; 

'T was a dreadful change in human 
affairs 

From a Place " Up Town " to a nook 
" Up Stairs," 
From an Avenue down to an Alley ! 

XXXIII. 

-'T was little condolence she had, God 

wot. 
From her "troops of friends," who 
had n't forgot 
The airs she used to borrow ; 
They had civil phrases enough, but 

yet 
'T was plain to see that their " deepest 
regret " 
Was a different thing from Sorrow ! 

XXXIV. 

They owned it could n't have well been 

worse. 
To go from a full to an empty purse ; 
To expect a reversion and get a " re- 
verse," 
Was truly a dismal feature ; 
But it was n't strange, — they whis- 
pered, — at all ; 
That the Summer of pride should have 
its Fall 
Was quite according to Nature ! 



XXXT. 

And one of those chaps who make a 

pun — 
As if it were quite legitimate fun 
To be blazing away at every one. 
With a regular double-loaded gun — 

Eemarked that moral transgres- 
sion 
Always brings retributive stings 
To candle-makers, as well as kings ! 
And making light of cereous things 

Was a very wick-ed profession ! 

XXXVI. 

And vulgar people, the saucy churls. 
Inquired about " the price of Pearls," 

And mocked at her situation ; 
" She was n't ruined, they ventured to 

hope ; 
Because she was poor, she needn't 

mope, — 
Few people were better off for soap, 
And that was a consolation ! " 

XXXVII. 

And to make her cup of woe run 

over. 
Her elegant, ardent, plighted lover 

Was the very first to forsake her ; 
He quite regretted the step, 't was 

true, — 
The lady had pride enough for two. 
But that alone would never do 
To quiet the butcher and baker ! 

XXXVIII. 

And now the unhappy Miss MacBride, 
The merest ghost of her early pride, 

Bewails her lonely position ; 
Cramped in the very narrowest niche. 
Above the poor, and below the rich, 

Was ever a worse condition 1 

MORAL. 

Because you flourish in worldly affairs, 
Don't be haughty, and put on airs. 

With insolent pride of station ! 
Don't be proud, and turn up your 

nose 
At poorer people in plainer clo'es, 
But learn, for the sake of your soul's 

repose. 
That wealth 's a hubble, that comes, — 

and goes ! 
And that all Proud Flesh, wherever it 

grows. 
Is subject to irritation ! 



14 



THE MASQUERADE. 



THE MASQUERADE. 

JUafxPaiXi^, rjT eK\e\jje voov nvKa Trep ^poveov- 

TIOV. 

HOM. II., xiv. 217. 
I. 

Count Felix was a man of worth 

By Fashion's strictest definition, 

For he had money, manners, birth, 

And that most slippery thing on earth 

Which social critics call position. 



And yet the Count was seldom gay ; 

The rich and noble have their crosses ; 
And he — as he was wont to say — 
Had seen some trouble in his day, 

And met with several serious losses. 



Among the rest, he lost his wife, 

A very model of a woman. 
With every needed virtue rife 
To lead a spouse a happy life, — 

Such wives (in France) are not un- 
common. 



The lady died, and left him sad 
And lone, to mourn the best of 
spouses ; 
She left him also — let me add — 
One child, and all the wealth she had, — 
The rent of half a dozen houses. 



I cnnnot tarry to discuss 

The weeping husband's desolation ; 
Upon her tomb he wrote it thus : — 
" Felix infellcissimus ! " 

In very touching ostentation. 



Indeed, the Count's behavior earned 

The plaudits of his strict confessor; 
His weeds of woe had fairly turned 
From black to brown, ere he had learned 
To think about his wife's successor. 



And then, indeed, 'twas but a thought; 

A sort of sentimental dreaming, 
That came at times, and came — to 

naught, 
With all the plans so nicely wrought 
By matrons skilled in marriage- 
scheming. 



At last, when many years had fled. 
And Father Time, the great physi- 
cian. 
Had soothed his sorrow for the dead, 
Count Felix took it in his head 

To change his wearisome condition. 



You think, perhaps, 't was quickly done ; 

The Count was still a man of fashion ; 
Wealth, title, talents, all in one, 
Were eloquence to win a nun. 

If nuns could feel a worldly passion. 



And yet the Count might well despond 

Of tying soon the silken tether ; 
Wise, witty, handsome, faithful, fond. 
And twenty — not a year beyond — 
Are charming, — when they come to- 
gether ! 



But more than that, the man required 
A wife to share his whims and fan- 
cies; 

Admire alone what he admired ; 

Desire, of course, as he desired, ' 
And show it in her very glances. 



Long, long the would-be wooer tried 
To find his precious ultimatum, — 

All earthly charms in one fair bride ; 

But still in vain he sought nnd sighed ; 
He could n't manage to get at 'em. 



In sooth, the Count was one of those 

Who, seeking something superhuman. 
Find not the angel thej^ would choose, 
And — what is more unlucky — lose 
Their chance to wed a chai-ming 
woman. 



The best-matched doves in Hymen's cage 
Were paired in youth's romantic sea- 
son ; 

Laugh as you will at passion's rage. 

The most unreasonable age 
Is what is called the age of reason. 



In love-affairs, we all have seen. 
The heart is oft the best adviser ; 



THE MASQUERADE. 



15 



The gray might well consult the 

"green," 
Cool sixty learn of rash sixteen, 
And go away a deal the wiser. 



The Count's high hopes began to fade ; 

His plans were not at all advancing ; 
When, lo ! — one day his valet made 
Some mention of a masquerade, — 

" I '11 go," said he, — " and see the 
dancing. 



" 'T will serve my spirits to arouse ; 

And, faith ! I 'm getting melan- 
choly. 
*T is not the place to seek a spouse, 
Where people go to break their vows, — 

But then 't will be extremely jolly ! " 



Count Felix found the crowd immense. 

And, had he been a censor morum, 
He might have said, without offense, 
" Got U23 regardless of expense. 
And some — regardless of decorum. 

XIX. 

" Eaith ! — all the world is here to- 
night ! " 
"Nay," said a merry friend demure- 

^^' 
" Not quite the whole, — pardon I — not 

quite ; 

Le Demi-Monde were nearer right. 

And no exaggeration, surely ! " 



The revelry ('t was just begun) 

A stoic might have found diverting ; 
That is, of coui'se, if he was one 
Who liked to see a bit of fun, 

And fancied persiflage and flirting. 



But who can paint that giddy maze 1 

Go find the lucky man who handles 
A brush to catch, on gala-days. 
The whirling, shooting, flashing rays 
Of Catherine-wheels and Koman can- 
dles! 

XXII, 

All sorts of masks that e'er were seen ; 

Fantastic, comic, and satanic ; 
Dukes, dwarfs, and "Highnesses" 
(Serene), 



And (that 's of course) the Cyprian 
Queen, 
In gauzes few and diaphanic. 



Lean Carmelites, fat Capuchins, 

Giants half human and half bestial ; 
Kings, Queens, Magicians, Harlequins, 
Greeks, Tartars, Turks, and Manda- 
rins 
More diabolic than " Celestial." 



Fair Scripture dames, — Naomi, E-uth, 
And Hagar, looking quite demented; 
The Virtues (all — excepting Truth) 
And Miigdalens, who were in sooth 
Just half of what they represented ! 



Fates, Furies, Fairies, — all the best 

And worst of Fancy's weird creation; 
Psyche and Cupid (demi-dressed) 
With several Vestals — by request, 
And solely for that one occasion. 



And one, among the motley brood. 
He saw, who shunned the wanton 
dances ; 
A sort of demi-nun, who stood 
In ringlets flashing from a hood, 
And seemed to seek our hero's glances; 

XXVII. 

The Count, delighted with her air, 
Drew near, the better to behold 
her; 
Her form was slight, her skin was fair. 
And maidenhood, you well might swear, 
Breathed from the dimples in her 
shoulder. 



He spoke ; she answered with a grace 
Tliat showed the girl no vulgar 
heiress ; 
And, — if the features one may trace 
In voices, — hers betrayed a face 
The finest to be found in Paris ! 

XXIX. 

And then such wit ! — in repartee 
She shone without the least endeav- 
or ; 

A beauty and a bel-esprit ! 

A scholar, too, — 't was plain to see. 
Who ever saw a girl so clever ? 



16 



THE MASQUERADE. 



Her taste he ventured to explore 

In books, the graver and the lighter, 

And mentioned authors by the score ; 

Mon Dieu ! in every sort of lore 

She always chose his favorite writ- 
er ! 



She loved the poets ; but confessed 
Racine beat all the others hollow ; 

At least, she thought his sti/le the best — 

(Racine! /»'s literary test! 
Kacine! his Max imus Apollo!) 

XXXII. 

Whatever topic he might name, 

Their minds were strangely sym- 
pathetic ; 
Of courtship, marriage, fashion, fame. 
Their views and feelings were the 
same, — 
" Parbleu ! " he cried, " it looks pro- 
phetic ! 

XXXIII. 

" Come, let us seek an ampler space ; 
This heated room — I can't abide 
it! 
That mask, I 'm sure, is out of place. 
And hides the fairest, sweetest face " — 
Said she, " I wear the mask to hide 
it!" 

XXXIV. 

The answer was extremely pat, 
And gave the Count a deal of pleas- 
ure: 

" C'est vrai ! I did not think of that ! 

Come, let us go where we can chat 
And eat (I'm hungry) at our leisure." 

XXXV. 

" I 'm hungry too ! " she said, — and 
went. 

Without the least attempt to cozen, — 
Like ladies who refuse, relent, 
Debate, oppose, and then consent 

To — eat enough for half a dozen ! 

XXXVI. 

And so they sat them down to dine, 

Solus cum sola, ga}' and merry ; 
The Count inquires the sort of wine 
To which his charmer may incline ; 
Ah ! quelle merveille I she answers, 
" Sherry ! " 



XXXVII. 

What will she eat ? She takes the carte, 
And notes the viands that she wishes ; 

" Pardon, Monsieur ! what makes you 
start 1 " 

As if she knew his tastes by heart, 
The lady named his favorite dishes ! 

XXXVIII. 

Was e'er such sympathy before ? 

The Count was really half demented ; 
He kissed her hand, and roundly swore 
He loved her perfectly ! — and, more, — 

He 'd wed her — if the gods con- 
sented ! 

XXXIX. 

"Monsieur is very kind," she said, 
" His love so lavishly bestowing 
On one who never thought to wed, — 
And least of all " — she raised her 
head — 
"'T is late, Sir Knight, I must be 
going ! " 

Count Felix sighed, — and while he 
drew 
Her shawl about her, at his leisure, 
" What street 1 " he asked ; " my cab is 

due." 
" No, no ! " she said, " / go with you ! 
That is — if it may be your pleasure." 



Of course, there 's little need to say 

The Count delighted in her capture; 
Away he drove, and all the way 
He murmured, " Quelle fdicit€ 1 " 
In very ecstasy of rapture ! 



Arrived at home — just where a fount 
Shot forth a jet of lucent water — 

He helped the lady to dismount; 

She drops her mask, and lo ! the Count 
Sees — Dieu de del ! — his only 
daughter ! 

XLIII. 

" Good night ! " she said, — " I 'm very 

well. 
Although you thought my health was 
fading ; 
Be good — and I will never tell 
('T was funny though) of what befell 
When you and I went masquerad- 
ing ! " 



LOVE AND LAW. 



IT 



MY FAMILIAR. 

" Ecce iterum Crisplnua 1 



Again I hear that creaking step ! — 

He 's rapping at the door ! — 
Too well I know the boding sound 

That ushers in a bore. 
I do not tremble when I meet 

The stoutest of my foes, 
But Heaven defend me from the friend 

Who comes — but never goes ! 



He drops into my easy-chair, 

And asks about the news ; 
He peers into my manuscript. 

And gives his candid views ; 
He tells me where he likes the line, 

And where he 's forced to grieve ; 
He takes the strangest liberties, — 

But never takes his leave ! 



He reads my daily paper through 

Before I 've seen a word ; 
He scans the lyric (that I wrote) 

And thinks it quite absurd ; 
He calmly smokes my last cigar, 

And coolly asks for more ; 
He opens everything he sees — 

Except the entry door ! 



He talks about his fragile health, 

And tells me of the pains 
He suffers from a score of ills 

Of which he ne'er complains ; 
And how he struggled once with death 

To keep the fiend at bay ; 
On themes like those away he goes, — 

But never goes away ! 



He tells me of the carping words 

Some shallow critic wrote ; 
And every precious paragraph 

Familiarly can quote ; 
He thinks the writer did me wrong; 

He 'd like to run him through ! 
Ho says a thousand pleasant things, — 

But never says, " Adieu ! " 



Whene'er he comes, — that dreadful 
man, — 
Disguise it as I may, 
2 



I know that, like an Autumn rain, 
He '11 last throughout the day. 

In vain I speak of urgent tasks ; 
In vain I scowl and pout ; 

A frown is no extinguisher, — 
It does not put him out ! 

VII. 

I mean to take the knocker off, 

Put crape upon the door, 
Or hint to John that I am gone 

To stay a month or more. 
I do not tremble when I meet 

The stoutest of my foes, 
But Heaven defend me from the friend 

Who never, never goes ! 



LOVE AND LAW. 



A LEGEND OP BOSTON. 



Jack Newman was in love ; a common 
case 
With boys just verging upou man- 
hood's prime, 

When every damsel with a pretty face 
Seems some bright creature from a 
purer clime, 

Sent by the gods to bless a country 
town, — 

A pink-cheeked angel in a muslin 
gown. 



Jack was in love; and also much in 
doubt 
(As thoughtful lovers oft have been 
before ) 
If it were better to be in or out. 

Such pain alloyed his bliss. On 
reason's score. 
Perhaps 't is equally a sin to get 
Too deep in love, in liquor, or in debt. 

III. 

The lady of his love, Miss Mary Blank 

(I call her so to hide her real name). 

Was fair and twenty, and in social 

rank — 

That is, in riches — much above her 

flame ; 

The daughter of a person who had 

tin 
Already won; while Jack had his to 
win. 



18 



LOVE AND LAW. 



Her father was a lawyer ; rather rusty 
lu legal lore, but one who well had 

striven 
In former days to swell liis "res angustce " 
To broad possessions ; and, in short, 

had thriven 
Bravely in his Yocation; though, the 

fact is. 
More by his "practices" ('twas said) 

than practice ! 



A famous man was Blank for sound 

advice 
In doubtful cases ; for example, 

where 
The point in question is extremely nice, 
And turns upon the section of a hair ; 
Or where — which seems a very common 

pother — 
Justice looks one way, and the Law 

another. 



Great was his skill to make or mar a 
plot : 
To prop, at need, a rotten reputation, 
Or undermine a good one ; he had got 

By heart the subtle science of evasion. 
And knew the useful art to pick a flaw 
Through which a rascal might escape 
the law. 



Jack was his pupil ; and 't is rather 
queer 
So shrewd a counselor did not dis- 
cover, 

With all his cunning both of eye and ear. 
That this same pupil was his daugh- 
ter's lover ; 

And — what Avould much have shocked 
his legal tutor — 

Was even now the girl's accepted suitor ! 

VIII. 

Fearing a non-suit, if the lawyer knew 
The case too soon. Jack kept it to 
himself ; 

And, stranger still, the lady kept it too ; 
For well he knew the father's pride 
of pelf, 

Should e'en a bare suopicion cross his 
mind. 

Would soon abate the action they de- 
signed. 



For Jack was impecunious ; and Blank 
Had small regard for people who 
were poor ; 

Riches to him were beauty, grace, and 
rank : 
In short, the man was one of many 
more 

Who worship money-bags and those 
who own 'em, 

And think a handsome sum the sum- 
mum bonum. 



I 'm fond of civil words, and do not wish 

To be satirical ; but none despise 
The poor so truly as the nouveaux riche ; 
And here, no doubt, the real reason 
lies. 
That being over-proud of what they are, 
They're naturally ashamed of what 
they were. 



Certain to meet the father's cold nega- 
tion, 
Jack dare not ask him for his daugh- 
ter's hand. 

What should he do ? 'T was surely an 
occasion 
For all the wit a lover might com- 
mand ; 

At last he chose (it seemed his only hope) 

That final card of Cupid, — to elope ! 



A pretty plan to please a penny-a-liner ; 
But far less pleasant for the leading 
factor, 

Should tlie fair maiden chance to be a 
minor 
(Whom the law reckons an unwilling 
actor) ; 

And here Jack found a rather sad ob- 
struction, — 

He might be caught and punished for 
abduction. 

XIII. 

What could he do 1 Well, — here is 
what he did : 
As a " moot-case " to Lawyer Blank 
he told 
The whole affair, save that the names 
were hid. 
I can't help thinking it was rather 
bold, 



RHYME OF THE RAIL. 



19 



But Love is partial to heroic schemes, 
Aud often proves much wiser than he 
seems. 



" The thing is safe enough, with proper 

care," 
Observed the lawyer, smiling. "Here 's 

your course : — 
Just let the lady manage the affair 
Throughout: Videlicet, she gets the 

horse. 
And mounts him, unassisted, 7?'"s<; hut 

mind. 
The woman sits before, and you, behind ! 



" Then who is the abductor ? — Just 
suppose 
A court and jury looking at the case; 

What ground of action do the facts dis- 
close ? 
They find a horse, — two riders, — 
and a race, — 

And you ' Not guilty ' ; for 't is clearly 
true 

The dashing damsel ran away with 
you !" 

XVI. 

****** 

XVII. 

These social sins are often rather grave ; 
I give such deeds no countenance of 
mine ; 
Nor can I say the father e'er forgave ; 
But that was surely, a propitious 
" sign," 
On which (in after years) the words I 

saw 
Were, " Blank and Newman, Coun- 
selors AT Law ! " 



EHYME OF THE RAIL. 

Singing through the forests, 

Rattling over ridges, 
Shooting under arches, 

Rumiding over bridges, 
Whizzing through the mountains, 

Buzzing o'er the vale, — 
Bless me ! this is pleasant, 

Riding on the Rail ! 

Men of different " stations " 
In the eye of Fame 



Here are very quickly 
Coming to the same. 

High and lowly people. 
Birds of every feather, 

On a common level 
Traveling together ! 

Gentleman in shorts, 

Looming very tall; 
Gentleman at large, 

Talking very small ; 
Gentleman in tights. 

With a loose-ish mien ; 
Gentleman in gray. 

Looking rather green. 

Gentleman quite old. 

Asking for the news ; 
Gentleman in black. 

In a fit of blues ; 
Gentleman in claret, 

Sober as a vicar ; 
Gentleman in Tweed, 

Dreadfully in liquor ! 

Stranger on the right. 
Looking very sunny, 

Obviously reading 

Something rather funny. 

Now the smiles are thicker, 
Wonder what they mean ? 

Faith he 's got the Knicker- 
bocker Magazine ! 

Stranger on the left. 

Closing up his peepers ; 
Now he snores amain, 

Like the Seven Sleei3ers ; 
At his feet a volume 

Gives the explanation. 
How the man grew stupid 

From " Association " ! 

Ancient maiden lady 

Anxiously remarks, 
That there must be peril 

'IVIong so many sparks ! 
Roguish-looking fellow, 

Turning to the stranger. 
Says it 's his opinion 

She is out of danger ! 

Woman with her baby, 

Sitting visa-vis ; 
Baby keeps a squalling ; 

Woman looks at me ; 
Asks about the distance, 

Says it 's tiresome talking, 



20 



LITTLE JERRY THE MILLER. 



Noises of the cars 

Are so very shocking ! 

Market-woman careful 

Of the precious casket, 
Knowing eggs are eggs, 

Tightly holds her basket ; 
Feeling that a smash. 

If it came, would surely 
Send her eggs to pot 

Eather prematurely ! 

Singing through the forests. 

Rattling over ridges, 
Shooting under arches. 

Rumbling over bridges. 
Whizzing through the mountains, 

Buzzing o'er the vale, — 
Bless me ! this is pleasant. 

Riding on the Rail ! 



THE BRIEFLESS BARRISTER. 

A BALLAD. 

An Attorney was taking a turn, 
In shabby habiliments drest ; 

His coat it was shockingly worn, 
And the rust had invested his vest. 

His breeches had suffered a breach. 
His linen and worsted were worse ; 

He had scarce a whole crown in his 
hat. 
And not half a crown in his purse. 

And thus as he wandered along, 
A cheerless and comfortless elf, 

He sought for relief in a song, 

Or complainingly talked to hiro- 
self : — 

" Unfortunate man that I am ! 

I 've never a client but grief : 
The case is, I Ve no case at all. 

And in brief, I 've ne'er had a brief ! 

" I 've waited and waited in vain, 
Expecting an ' opening ' to find, 

Where an honest young lawyer might 
gain 
Some reward for toil of his mind. 

*' T is not that I 'm wanting in law, 
Or lack an intelligent face, 



That others have cases to plead. 
While I have to plead for a case. 

" O, how can a modest young man 
E'er hope for the smallest progres- 
sion, — 

The profession 's already so full 
Of lawyers so full of profession ! " 

While thus he was strolling around. 

His eye accidentally fell 
On a very deep hole in the ground. 

And he sighed to himself, " It is 
well ! " 

To curb his emotions, he sat 

On the curbstone the space of a min- 
ute. 
Then cried, "Here's an opening at 
last ! " 
And in less than a jiffy was in it ! 

Next morning twelve citizens came 
('Twas the coroner bade them at- 
tend ), 

To the end that it might be determined 
How the man had determined his end ! 

" The man was a lawyer, I hear," 
Quoth the foreman Avho sat on the 
corse. 

" A lawyer ? Alas ! " said another, 
" Undoubtedly died of remorse ! " 

A third said, " He knew the deceased, 
An attorney well vrrscd in the laws, 

And as to the cause of his death, 

' T was no doubt for the want of a 
cause." 

The jury decided at length, 

After solemnly weighing the matter, 
That the lawyer was drown<j?ed, because 

He could not keep his head above wa- 
ter ! 



LITTLE JERRY THE MILLER.* 

A BALLAD. 

Beneath the hill you may see the mill 
Of wasting wood and crumbling 
stone ; 

* Perhaps it may add a trifle to the interest 
of this ballad to know that the description, 
both of the man and the mill, is quite true. 



HOW CYRUS LAID THE CABLE. 



21 



The wheel is dripping and clattering 
still, 
But Jekrt, the miller, is dead and 
gone. 

Year after year, early and late, 

Alike in siininier and winter weather. 

He pecked the stones and calked the 
gate, 
And mill and miller grew old together. 

" Little Jerry ! " — 't was all the same, — 
They loved him well who called him 
so ; 

And whether he 'd ever another name, 
Nobody ever seemed to know. 

'T was, " Little Jerry, come grind my 
rye " _; 
And, "Little Jerry, come grind my 
wheat " ; 
And " Little Jerry " was still the cry. 
From matron bold and maiden sweet. 

'T was " Little Jerry " on every tongne. 
And so the simple truth was told ; 

For Jerry was little when he was young, 
And Jerry was little when he was old. 

But what in size he chanced to lack. 
That Jerry made up in being strong ; 

I 've seen a sack upon his back 

As thick as the miller, and quite as 
long. 

Always busy, and always merry, 

Always doing his very best, 
A notable wag was Little Jerry, 

Who uttered well his standing jest. 

How Jerry lived is known to fame, 
But how he died there 's none may 
know ; 

One autumn day tlie rumor came, 

" The brook and Jerry are very low. " 

And then 't was whispered, mournfully, 
The leech had come, and he was 
dead ; 

And all the neighbors flocked to see; 
" Poor little Jerry ! " was all they said. 

"Little .Terry" — a diminutive Frencliman of 
remarkable strength, wit, and good-nature — 
was for many years my father's miller in High- 
gate, Vermont. His surname was written 
" Goodheart "- in the mill-books ; but he often 
told me that our English translation, was quite 
too weak, as the real name was spelled " Fort- 
boncctur. 



They laid him in his earthy bed, — 
His miller's coat his only shroud ; 

" Dust to dust," the parson said, 
And all the people wept aloud. 

For he had shunned the deadly sin, 
And not a grain of over-toll 

Had ever dropped into his bin. 
To weigh upon his parting soul. 

Beneath the hill there stands the mill. 

Of wasting wood and crumbling stone ; 
The wheel is dripping and clattering 
still, 
But Jerry, the miller, is dead and 
gone. 



HOW CYRUS LAID THE CABLE. 

A BALLAD. 

Come, listen all unto my song ; 

It is no siUy fable ; 
'T is all about the mighty cord 

They call the Atlantic Cable. 

Bold Cyrus Field he said, says lie, 

I have a pretty notion 
That I can run a telegraph 

Across the Atlantic Ocean. 

Then all the people laughed, and said. 
They 'd like to see him do it ; 

He might get half seas-over, but 
He never could go through it. 

To carry out his foolish plan 

He never would be able ; 
He might as well go hang himself 

With his Atlantic Cable. 

But Cyrus was a valiant man, 

A fellow of decision ; 
And heeded not their mocking words, 

Their laughter and derision. 

Twice did his bravest efforts fail, 
And j-et his mind was stable ; 

He wa' n't the man to break his heart 
Because he broke his cable. 

" Once more, my gallant boys ! " he 
cried ; 
" Three times ! — you know the fa- 
ble, — 
( I '11 make it thirty " muttered he, 
" But I will lay the cable ! ") 



22 



WHAT HAS BECOME OF THE GODS. 



Once more they tried, — hurrah! hur- 
rah! 

What means this great commotion 1 
The Lord be praised ! the cable 's laid 

Across the Atlantic Ocean ! 

Loud ring the bells, — for, flashing 
through 

Six hundred leagues of water, 
Old Mother England's benison 

Salutes her eldest daughter ! 

O'er all the land the tidings speed. 

And soon, in every nation, 
They '11 hear about the cable with 

Profoundest admiration ! 

Now, long live President and Queen ; 

And long live gallant Cyrus ; 
And may his courage, faith, and zeal 

With emulation lire us ; 

And may we honor evermore 
The manly, bold, and stable ; 

And tell our sons, to make them brave. 
How Cyrus laid the cable ! 



WHAT HAS BECOME OE THE 
GODS. 

Full often I have heard it said. 

As something quite uncontroverted, 
" The gods and goddesses are dead, 

And high Olympus is deserted " : 
And so, while thinking of the gods, 

I made, one night, an exploration, 
(In fact or fancy, — where 's the odds ?) 

To get authentic information. 

I found — to make a true report. 

As if I were a sworn committee — 
They all had left the upper court, 

And settled in Manhattan city ; 
Where now they live, as best they may, 

Quite unsuspected of their neighbors. 
And in a humbler sort of way, 

Eepeat their old Olympic labors. 

In human frames, for safe disguise. 
They come and go through wooden 
portals, 
And to the keen Detective's eyes 

Seem nothing more than common 
mortals ; 
For mortal-like they 're clad and fed. 
And, still to blind the sharp inspector, 



Eat, for ambrosia, baker's bread. 
And tipple — everything but nectar. 

Great Jove, who wore the kingly crown, 

And used to make Olympus rattle. 
As if the sky was coming down, 

Or all the Titans were in battle, — 
Is now a sorry playhouse wight. 

Content to make the groundlings 
wonder. 
And earn some shillings every night. 

By coining cheap theatric thunder. 

Apollo, who in better times 

Was poet-laureate of th' Elysians, 
And, adding medicine to rhymes. 

Was chief among the court physi- 
cians. 
Now cures disease of every grade, — 

Lucina's cares and Cupid's curses, — 
And, still to ply his double trade, 

Bepuffs his pills in doggerel verses ! 

Minerva, famous in her day 
For wit and war, — though often 
shocking 
The gods by overmuch display 
Of what they called her azure stock- 
ing, — 
Now deals in books of ancient kind 
(Where Learning soars and Fancy 
grovels), 
And, to indulge her warlike mind, 
Writes very sanguinary novels. 

And Venus, who on Ida's seat 

In myrtle-groves her charms paraded, 
Displays her beautj' in the street, 

And seems, indeed, a little faded; 
She 's dealing in the clothing-line 

(If at her word you choose to take her), 
Li Something Square you read the 
sign : — 

" Miss Cytheeea, Mantua-makee." 

Mars figures still as god of war. 

But not with spear and iron hanger, 
Erect upon the ponderous car 

That rolled along with fearful clangor ; 
Ah ! no ; of sword and spear bereft, 

He stands beside his bottle-holder. 
And plumps his right, and plants his 
lefi, 

And strikes directly from the shoul- 
der. 

And Bacchus, reared among the vines 
That flourished in the fields Elysian, 



THE COLD-WATER MAN. 



23 



And ruddy with the rarest wines 

That ever flashtd upon the vision, — 

A licensed liquor-dealer now. 

Sits pale and thin from over-dosing 

With whiskey, made — the deuce knows 
how, 
And brandy of his own composing. 

And cunning Mercury, — what d' ye 
think 

Is now the nimble rogue's condition ? 
Of course 't was but a step, to sink 

From Peter Funk to politician ; 
Though now he neither steals nor robs, 

But just secures a friend's election, 
And lives and thrives on little jobs 

Connected with the Street Inspec- 
tion. 

Thus all the gods, in deep disguise, 

Go in and out of wooden portals, 
And, to the sharpest human eyes, 

Seem nothing more than common 
mortals. 
And so they live, as best they may, 

Quite unsuspected of their neighbors. 
And, in a humbler sort of way. 

Repeat their old Olympic labors. 



THE COLD-WATER MAN. 

A BALLAD. 

It was an honest fisherman, 
I knew him passing well, — 

And he lived by a little pond, 
Within a little dell. 

A grave and quiet man was he, 
Who loved his book and rod, — 

So even ran his line of life, 
His neighbors thought it odd. 

For science and for books, he said 

He never had a wish, — 
No school to him was worth a fig, 

Except a school of fish. 

He ne'er aspired to rank or wealth. 

Nor cared about a name, — 
For though much famed for fish was 
he. 

He never fished for fame. 

Let others bend their necks at sight 
Of Fashion's gilded wheels, 



He ne'er bad learned the art to "bob" 
For anything but eels, 

A cunning fisherman was he, 

His angles all were right ; 
The smallest nibble at his bait 

Was sure to prove " a bite " ! 

All day this fisherman would sit 

Upon an ancient log, 
And gaze into the ■w^ater, like 

Some sedentary frog ; 

With all the seeming innocence. 

And that unconscious look. 
That other people often wear 

When they intend to " hook " ! 

To charm the fish he never spoke, — 
Although his voice was fine, 

He found the most convenient way 
Was just to drop a line. 

And many a gudgeon of the pond, 

If they could speak to-day, 
Would own, with grief, this angler had 

A mighty taking way. 

Alas ! one day this fisherman 

Had taken too much grog, 
And being but a landsman, too, 

He couldn't keep the log. 

'T was all in vain with might and main 
He strove to reach the shore ; 

Down — down he went, to feed the 
fish 
He 'd baited oft before. 

The jury gave their verdict that 

'T was nothing else but gin 
Had caused the fisherman to be 

So sadly taken in ; 

Though one stood out upon a whim, 
And said the angler's slaughter, 

To be exact about the fact, 
Was, clearly, gin-and-wa^er / 

The moral of this mournful tale, 
To all is plain and clear, — 

That drinking habits bring a man 
Too often to his bier ; 

And he who scorns to " take the pledge," 

And keep the promise fast, 
May be, in spite of fate, a stiff 

Cold-water man at last .' 



24 



A CONNUBIAL ECLOGUE. 



COMIC MISEEIES. 



My dear young friend, whose shining 
wit 

Sets all the room ablaze, 
Don't think yourself " a happy dog," 

For all your merry ways ; 
But learn to wear a sober phiz. 

Be stupid, if you can, 
It 's such a very serious thing 

To be a funny man ! 



You 're at an evening party, with 

A group of pleasant folks, — 
You venture quietly to crack 

The least of little jokes ; 
A lady does n't catch the point, 

And begs you to explain, — 
Alas for one who drops a jest 

And takes it up again ! 



You're talking deep philosophy 

With very special force, 
To edify a clergyman 

With suitable discourse : 
You think you 've got him, — when he 
calls . 

A friend across the way, 
And begs you '11 say that funny thing 

You said the other day ! 



You drop a pretty /ew-de-moi 

Into a neighbor's ears. 
Who likes to give you credit for 

The clever thing he hears, 
And so he hawks your jest about. 

The old, authentic one. 
Just breaking off the point of it, 

And leaving out the pun ! 



By sudden chanse in politics, 

Or sadder chaupe in Polly, 
You lose your love, or loaves, and fall 

A prey to melancholy, 
While everybody marvels why 

Your mirth is under ban. 
They think your very grief " a joke," 

You 're such a funny man ! 



You follow up a stylish card 
That bids you come and dine, 



And bring along your freshest wit 

(To pay for musty wine) ; 
You 're looking very dismal, when 

My lady bounces in. 
And wonders what you 're thinking of. 

And why you don't begin ! 



You 're telling to a knot of friends 

A fancy-tale of woes 
That cloud your matrimonial sky. 

And banish all repose, — 
A solemn lady overhears 

The story of your strife, 
And tells the town the pleasant news : — 

You quarrel with your wife ! 

Till. 

My dear young friend, whose shining 
wit 

Sets all the room ablaze. 
Don't think yourself " a happy dog," 

For all your merr}' ways ; 
But learn to wear a sober phiz, 

Be stupid, if you can. 
It 's such a very serious thing 

To be a funny man ! 



A CONNUBIAL ECLOGUE. 

" Arcades ambo, 
Et cantare pares et respondere parati." 

Virgil. 



Much lately have I thought, my darling 
wife, 

Some simple rules might make our wed- 
ded life 

As pleasant always as a morn in May ; 

I merely name it, — what does Molly 
say? 



Agreed : yonr plan I heartily approve ; 

Rules would be nice, — but who shall 
make them, love"? 

Nay, do not speak ! — let this the bar- 
gain be. 

One shall be made by yon, and one by 
me. 

Till all are done — 



— Your plan is surely fair. 
In such a work 't is fitting we should 
share ; 



SOME PENCIL-PICTURES. 



25 



And now — although it matters not a 

pin — 
If you have no objection, I '11 begin. 



Proceed ! In making laws I 'm little 

versed ; 
And as to words, I do not mind the 

first ; 
I only claim — and hold the treasure 

fast — 
My sex's sacred privilege, the last ! 



With all my heart. Well, dearest, to 
begin : — 

When by our cheerful hearth our friends 
drop in. 

And I am talking in my brilliant style 

(The rest with rapture listening the 
while) 

About the war, — or anything, in short, 

That you 're aware is my especial 
forte, — 

Pray don't get up a circle of your 
own. 

And talk of — bonnets, in an under- 
tone ! 



That 's Number One ; I 'U mind it well, 

if you 
Will do as much, my dear, by Number 

Two : 
When we attend a party or a ball, 
Don't leave your Molly standing by the 

wall, 
The helpless victim of the dreariest 

bore 
That ever walked upon a parlor-floor. 
While you — oblivious of your spouse's 

doom — 
Flirt with the girls, — the gayest in the 

room ! 



When I (although the busiest man 
alive) 

Have snatched an hour to take a pleas- 
ant drive, 

And say, " Remember, at precisely 
four 

You '11 find the carriage ready at the 
door," 

Don't keep me waiting half an hour or 
so. 

And then declare, " The clock must be 
too slow ! " 



When you (such things have happened 

now and then) 
Go to the Club with, "I'll be back at 

ten," 
And stay tiU two o'clock, you need n't 

say, 
" I really was the first to come away ; 
'T is very strange how swift the time 

has passed : 
I 'm sure, my dear, the clock must be 

too fast ! " 



There — that will do ; what else re- 
mains to say 

We may consider at a future day ; 

I 'm getting sleepy — and — if you have 
done — 



Not I ! — this making rules is precious 
fun ; 

Now here 's another : — When you paint 
to me 

" That charming woman " you are sure 
to see, 

Don't — when you praise the virtues she 
has got — 

Name only those you think your wife 
has not ! 

And here 's a rule I hope you won't for- 
get, _ 

The most important I have mentioned 
yet, — 

Pray mind it well : — Whenever you in- 
cline 

To bring your queer companions home 
to dine. 

Suppose, my dear, — Good Gracious ! 
he 's asleep ! 

Ah ! well, — 't is lucky good advice will 
keep ; 

And he shall have it, or, upon my life, 

I 've not the proper spirit of a wife ! 



SOME PENCIL-PICTURES: 

TAKEN AT SARATOGA. 
I. 

Your novel-writers make their ladies 
tall ; 
I mean their heroines ; as if, indeed, 



26 



SOME PENCIL-PICTURES. 



It were a fatal failing to be small. 
In this, I own, we are not well 
agreed, — 
I like a little woman, if she 's pretty. 
Modest and clever, sensible and witty. 



And such is she who sits beside me; 

fair 
As her deportment; mine is not the 

pen 
To paint the glory of her Saxon hair, 
And eyes of heavenly azure ! There 

are men 
Who doat on raven tresses, and are 

fond 
Of dark complexions, — I adore a blonde ! 



There sits a woman of another type : 
Superb in figure and of stately size ; 

An Amazonian beauty round aud ripe 
As Cytherea, — witli delicious eyes 

That laugh or languish with a shifting 
liue 

Somewhat between a hazel and a blue. 



Across the room — to please a daintier 

taste — 
A slender damsel flits with fairy 

tread ; 
A lover's hand, might span her little 

waist, 
If so inclined, — that is, if they were 

wed. 
Some youths admire those fragile forms, 

I Ve heard ; 
I never saw the man, upon my word ! 



But styles of person, though they please 
me more 
(As Nature's work), excite my wonder 
less 
Than all my curious vision may ex- 
plore 
In moods and manners, equipage and 
dress ; 
The last alone were theme enough, in- 

. deed, 
For more than I could write, or you 
would read. 



Swift satirized mankind with little ruth. 
And womankind as well ; but we must 
own 



His words of censure oft are very 

truth, — 
For instance, where the satirist has 

shown 
How — thankless for the gifts which 

they have got — 
All strive to show the talents they — 

have not ! 



Thus (it is written) Frederick the Great 
Cared little for the battles he had 

fought. 
But listened eagerly and all-elate 

To hear a courtier praise the style and 

thought 
That graced his Sonnets; though, in 

fact, his verse 
(I've tried to read it) could n't well be 

worse ! 



The like absurd ambition you ma}' note 
In fashionable women. Look you 

1 here ! 
Observe an arm which all (but she) must 

vote 
Extremely ugly ; so she keeps it 

bare 
(Lest so much beauty should escape the 

light) 
From wrist to shoulder, morning, noon, 

and night ! 



Observe again (the girl who stands 

alone) 
How Pride reveals what Prudence 

would suppress ; ' ^ 

A mere anatomy of skin-and-bone, — 
She wears, perversely, a decoUeto 

dress ! 
Those tawny angles seek no friendly 

screen, 
But court the day, and glory to be seen ! 



liobert Burns ! if such a thing might 

be, 
That all by ignorance or folly blind. 
For once should "see themselves as 

others see " 
(As thou didst pray for hapless 

human kind), 
"What startled crowds would madly 

rush to hide 
The dearest objects of their fondest 

pride ! 



THE SUPERFLUOUS MAN. 



27 



BOYS. 

" The proper study of mankind is 

man," — 
The most perplexing one, no doubt, is 

woman, 
The subtlest study that the mind can 

scan, 
Of all deep problems, heavenly or 

human ! 

But of all studies in the round of learn- 
ing. 

From nature's marvels down to human 
toys. 

To minds well fitted for acute discern- 
ing, 

The very queerest one is that of boys ! 

If to ask questions that would puzzle 

Plato, 
And all the schoolmen of the Middle 

Age, — 
If to make precepts worthy of old Cato, 
Be deemed philosophy, your boy 's a 

sage ! 

If the possession of a teeming fancy 
(Although, forsooth, the younker does 

n't know it). 
Which he can use in rarest necromancy, 
Be thought poetical, your boy 's a poet ! 

If a strong will and most courageous 

bearing, 
If to be cruel as the Roman Nero ; 
If all that 's chivalrous, and all that 's 

daring, 
Can make a hero, then the boy 's a hero ! 

But changing soon with his increasing 

stature, 
The boy is lost in manhood's riper 

age. 
And with him goes his former triple 

nature, — 
No longer Poet, Hero, now, nor Sage ! 



THE SUPERFLUOUS MAN. 

" It is ascertained by inspection of the regis- 
ters of many countries, that tlie uniform pro- 
portion of male to female births is as 21 to 20 : 
accordingly, in respect to marriage, every 21st 
man is naturally superfluous. " — Treatise on 
Population. 



I LONG have been puzzled to guess. 

And so I have frequently said. 
What the reason could really be 

That I never have happened to wed ; 
But now it is perfectly clear, 

I am under a natural ban ; 
The girls are already assigned, — 

And I 'm a superfluous man ! 

Those clever statistical chaps 

Declare the numerical run 
Of women and men in the world, 

Is Twenty to Twenty -and-one ; 
And hence in the pairing, you see, 

Since wooing and wedding began, 
For every connubial score. 

They 've got a superfluous man ! 

By twenties and twenties they go. 

And giddily rush to their fate. 
For none of the number, of course. 

Can fail of a conjugal mate ; 
But while they are yielding in scores 

To Nature's inflexible plan, 
There 's never a woman for me, — 

For I 'm a superfluous man ! 

It is n't that I am a churl, 

To solitude over-inclined; 
It is n't that I am at fault 

In moral.s, or manners, or mind ; 
Then what is the reason, you ask, 

I 'm still with the bachelor-clan 1 
I merely was numbered amiss, — 

And I 'm a superfluous man ! 

It is n't that I am in want 

Of personal beauty or grace, 
For many a man with a wife 

Is uglier far in the face ; 
Indeed, among elegant men 

I fancy myself in the van; 
But what is the value of that, 

When I 'm a superfluous man 1 

Although I am fond of the girls, 

For aught I could ever discern 
The tender emotion I feel 

Is one that they never return ; 
'T is idle to quarrel with fate. 

For, struggle as hard as I can, 
They 're mated already, you know, — 

And I 'm a superfluous man ! 

No wonder I grumble at times, 
With women so pretty and plenty, 

To know that I never was born 
To figure as one of the Twenty ; 



28 



GIRLHOOD. 



But yet, when the average lot 
With critical vision I scan, 

I think it may be for the best 
That I'm a superfluous man ! 



TOUJOURS LES FEMMES. 

I THINK it was a Persian king 

Who used to say, that evermore 
In human life each evil thing 

Conies of the sex that men adore ; 
In brief, that nothing e'er befell 

To harm or grieve our hapless race. 
But, if you pi-obe the matter well. 

You '11 find a woman in the case ! 

And then the curious tale is told 

How, when upon a certain night 
A climbing youngster lost his hold, 

And, falling from a ladder's height, 
Was found, alas ! next morning dead, 

His Majesty, with solemn face, 
As was his wont, demurely said, 

" Pray, who 's the woman in the 
case ? " 

And how a lady of his court, 

Who deemed the royal whim absurd, 
Rebuked him, while she made report 

Of the mischance that late occurred; 
Whereat the king replied in glee, 

"I've heard the story, please your 
Grace, 
And all the witnesses agree 

There was a woman in the case ! 

" The truth, your Ladyship, is this 

(Nor is it marvelous at all). 
The chap was climbing for a kiss, 

And got, instead, a fatal fall. 
Whene'er a man — as I have said — 

Falls from a ladder, or from grace, 
Or breaks his faith, or breaks his head, 

There is a woman in the case ! " 

For such a churlish, carping creed 

As that his Majesty professed, 
I hold him of unkingly breed, — 

Unless, in sooth, he spoke in jest. 
To me, few things have come to pass 

Of good event, but I can trace, — 
Thanks to the matron or the lass, — 

Somewhere, a woman in the case. 

Yet once, while gayly strolling where 
A vast Museum still displays 



Its varied wealth of strange and rare, 
To charm, or to repel, the gaze, — 

I — to a lady (who denied 

The creed by laughing in my face) — 

Took up, for once, the Persian's side 
About a woman in the case. 

Discoursing thus, we came upon 

A grim Egyptian mummy — dead 
Some centuries since. " 'T is Pharaoh's 
son. 

Perhaps ; who knows ? " the lady 
said. 
No ! on the black sarcophagus 

A female name I stooped to trace. 
Toujours les femmes ! 'T is ever thus, — 

There was a woman in the case! 



GIRLHOOD. 

With rosy cheeks, and merry-dancing 
curls. 

And eyes of tender light, 
0, very beautiful are little girls, 

And goodly to the sight ! 

Here comes a group to seek my lonely 
bower. 
Ere waning Autumn dies : 
How like the dew-drops on a drooping 
flower * 
Are smiles from gentle eyes ! 

What beaming gladness lights each fairy 
face 

The while the elves advance, 
Now speeding swiftly in a gleesome race, 

Now whirling in a dance ! 

What heavenly pleasure o'er the spirit 
rolls, 
When all the air along 
Floats the sweet music of untainted 
souls. 
In bright, unsullied song ! 

The sacred nymphs that guard this syl- 
van ground 
May sport unseen with these, 
And joy to hear their ringing laugh re- 
sound 
Among the clustering trees ! 

With rosy cheeks, and merry-dancing 
curls, 
And eyes of tender light, 



CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. 



29 



O, very beautiful are little girls, 
And goodly to the sight ! 



THE COCKNEY. 

It was in my foreign travel, 

At a famous Flemish inn. 
That I met a stoutish person 

With a very ruddy skin ; 
And his hair was something sandy. 

And was done in knotty curls, 
And was parted in the middle. 

In the manner of a girl's. 

He was clad in checkered trousers. 

And his coat was of a sort 
To suggest a scanty pattern, 

It WHS bobbed so very short ; 
And his cap was very little, 

Such as soldiers often use ; 
And he wore a pair of gaiters, 

And extremely heavy shoes. 

I addressed the man in English, 

And he answered in the same. 
Though he spoke it in a fashion 

That I thought a little lame ; 
For the aspirate was missing 

Where the letter should have been. 
But where'er it wasn't wanted. 

He was sure to put it in ! 

When I spoke with admiration 

Of St. Peter's mighty dome, 
He remarked : " 'T is really nothing 

To the sights we 'ave at 'ome ! " 
And declared upon his honor, — 

Though, of course, 't wns very queer,- 
That he doubted if the Romans 

'Ad the Aart of making beer ! 

When I named the Colosseum, 

He observed, " 'T is very fair ; 
I mean, ye know, it would be, 

If they 'd put it in repair ; 
But what progress or Aimprovement 

Can those curst i?italians 'ope 
While they 're Aunder the dominion 

Of that blasted muff, the Pope "? " 

Then we talked of other countries, 
And he said that he had heard 

That i7americans spoke //inglish, 
But he deemed it quite Aabsurd ; 

Yet he felt the deepest /nnterest 
In the missionary work. 



And would like to know if Georgia 
Was in Boston or New York ! 

When I left the man-in-gaiters. 

He was grumbling, o'er his gin,. 
At the charges of tlie hostess 

Of that famous Flemish inn ; 
And he looked a very Briton 

(So, methiuks, I see him still). 
As he pocketed the candle 

That was mentioned in the bill ! 



CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVEN- 
TURE. 



Captain Jones was five-feet ten 
(The height of Chesterfield's gentle- 
men). 
With a manly breadth of shoulder ; 
And Captain Jones was straight and 

trim. 
With nothing about him anywise slim. 
And had for a leg as perfect a limb 
As ever astonished beholder ! 



With a calf of such a notable size 
'T would surely have taken the highest 
prize 

At any fair Fair in creation ; 
'T was just the leg for a priuce to sport 
Who wished to stand at a Royal Court 

At the head of Foreign Legation ! 



And Captain Jones had an elegant 

foot, 
'T was just the thing for his patent 
boot. 
And could so prettily shove it, 
'T was a genuine pleasure to see it re- 
pent 
In the public walks the Milonian feat 
Of bearing the calf above it ! 



But the Captain's prominent personal 

charm 
Was neither his foot, nor leg, nor arm. 

Nor his very distingue air ; 
Nor was it, although you're thinking 

upon 't, 
The front of his head, but his head and 
front 
Of beautiful coal-black hair ! 



30 



CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. 



So very bright was the gloss they had, 
'T would have made a rival raving 

mad 
To look at his raven curls ; 
Wherever he went, the Captain's hair 
Was certain to fix the public stare, 
And the constant cry was, " I declare ! " 
And " Did you ever ! " and " Just look 

there ! " 
Among the dazzled girls. 



Now Captain Jones was a master bold 
Of a merchant-ship some dozen years 

old, ^ 

And every name could have easily told, 
And never confound the " hull " and 

the " hold," 
Throughout her inventory ; 
And he had traveled in foreign parts. 
And learned a number of foreign arts, 
And played the deuce with foreign 

hearts. 
As the Captain told the story. 



He had learned to chatter the French 

and Spanish, 
To splutter the Dutch, and mutter the 

Danish, 
In a way that sounded oracular ; 
Had gabbled among the Portuguese ; 
And caught the Tartar, or, rather, a 

piece 
Of " broken China," it was n't Chinese, 
Any more than his own vernacular ! 



How Captain Jones was wont to shine 
In the line of ships ! (not Ships of the 

Line,) 
How he 'd brag of the water over his 

wine. 
And of woman over the water ! 
And then, if you credit the Captain's 

phrase. 
He was more expert in such queer ways 
As " doubling capes " and " putting in 

stays," 
Than any milliner's daughter ! 



Now the Captain kept in constant pay 
A single Mate, as a Captain may 
(In a nautical, not in a naughty way, 
As " mates " are sometimes carried) ; 



But to hear him prose of the squalls that 
arose 

In the dead of the night to break his re- 
pose. 

Of white-caps and cradles, and such 
things as those. 

And of breezes that ended in regular 
blows, 
You'd have sworn the Captain was 
married ! 



The Captain's morals were fair enough, 
Though a sailor's life is rather rough, 

By dint of the ocean's force ; 
And that one who makes so many, in 

ships, 
Should make, upon shore, occasional 
" trips," 
Seems quite a matter of course. 



And Captain Jones was stiff as a post 
To the vulgar fry, but among the most 
Genteel and polished, ruled the roast, 
As no professional cook could boast 

That ever you set your eye on ; 
Indeed, 't was enough to make him 

vain, 
For the pretty and proud confessed his 

reign. 
And Captain Jones, in manners and 

mane, 
Was deemed a genuine lion. 

XII. 

And the Captain reveled early and late, 
At the balls and routs of the rich and 

great, 
And seemed the veriest child oijetes, 

Though merely a minion of pleasure ; 
And he laughed with the girls in merry 

sport. 
And paid the mammas the civilcst court, 
And drank their wine, whatever the 

sort. 
By the nautical rule of " Any port " — 
You may add the rest at leisure. 



Miss Susan Brown was a dashing girl 
As ever revolved in the waltz's whirl, 
Or twinkled a foot in the polka's twirl. 

By the glare of spermaceti ; 
And Susan's form was trim and.slight. 
And her beautiful skin, as if in spite 
Of her dingy name, was exceedingly 
white, 



CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. 



31 



And her azure eyes were "sparkliug 
and briji'lit," 
And so was her favorite dittv. 



And SusAK Brown had a score of 

names, 
Like the very voluminous Mr. James 
(Who got at the Font his strongest 
claims 
To be reckoned a Man of Letters) ; 
But thinking the task will hardly please 
Scholars who 've taken the higher de- 
grees, 
To be set repeating their A, B, C's, 
I choose to reject such fetters as these, 
Though merely Nominal fetters. 



The patronymical name of the maid 
Was so completely overlaid 

With a long prsenominal cover. 
That if each additional proper noun 
Was laid with additional emphasis 

down, 
Miss Susan was done uncommonly 
Brown, 
The moment her chrisfning was over ! 



And Susan was versed in modern ro- 
mance. 

In the Modes of Murray and Modes of 
France, 

And had learned to sing and learned to 
dance, 
In a style decidedly pretty ; 

And Susan was versed in classical lore, 

In the works of Horace, and several 
more 

Whose opera now would be voted a bore 
By the lovers of Donizetti. 



And Susan was rich. Her provident 
sire 

Had piled the dollars up higher and 
higher, 
By dint of his personal labors. 

Till he reckoned at last a sufficient 
amount 

To be counted, himself, a man of ac- 
count 
Among his affluent neighbors. 

XVIII. 

By force of careful culture alone. 
Old Brown's estate had rapidly grown 



A plum for his only daughter ; 
And, after all the fanciful dreams 
Of golden fountains and golden streams. 
The sweat of patient labor seems 

The true Pactolian water. 



And while your theorist worries his 

mind 
In hopes the magical stone to find, 

By some alchemical gammon, 
Practical people, by regular knocks. 
Are filling their " pockets full of rocks " 

From the golden mountain of Mam- 



With charms like these, you may well 

suppose 
Miss Susan Bbown had plenty of 
beaux. 
Breathing nothing but passion ; 
And twenty sought her hand to gain. 
And twenty sought her hand in vain, 
Were " cut," and did n't " come again," 
In the Ordinary fashion. 



Captain Jones, by the common voice. 
At length was voted the man of her 

choice. 
And she his favorite fair ; 
It was n't the Captain's manly face, 
His native sense, nor foreign grace, 
That took her heart from its proper 

place ' 

And put it into a tenderer case, 
But his beaiitif ul coal-black hair ! 



How it is, ivhy it is, none can tell. 
But all philosophers know full well. 

Though puzzled about the action, 
That of all the forces under the sun 
You can hardly find a stronger one 

Than capillary attraction. 

XXIII. 

The locks of canals are strong as rocks ; 

And wedlock is strong as a banker's 
box ; 

And there 's strength in the locks a 
Cockney cocks 

At innocent birds, to give himself 
knocks ; 

In the locks of safes, and those safety- 
locks 
They call the Permutation ; 



32 



CAPTAIN JONES'S MISADVENTURE. 



But of all the locks that ever were 

made 
In Nature's shops, or the shops of 

trade, 
The subtlest combination 
Of beauty and strength is found in 

those 
Which grace the heads of belles and 

beaux 
In every civilized nation ! 

XXIV. 

The gossips whispered it through the 

town. 
That Captain Jones loved Susan 
Brown ; 
But, speaking with due precision, 
The gossips' tattle was out of joint, 
For the lady's " blunt " was the' only 
point 
That dazzled the lover's vision ! 

XXV. 

And the Captain begged, in his smooth- 
est tones. 

Miss Susan Bkown to be Mistress 
Jones, — 

Flesh of his flesh and bone of his 
bones. 
Till death the union should sever ; 

For these are the words employed, of 
course, 

Though Death is cheated, sometimes, 
by Divorce, 

A fact which gives an equivocal force 
To that beautiful phrase, " forever ! " 

XXVI. 

And Susan sighed the conventional 
" Nay " 

In such a bewitching, affirmative way, 

The Captain perceived 't was the femi- 
nine " Ay," 
And sealed it in such commotion, 

That no "lip-service" that ever was 
paid 

To the ear of a god, or the cheek of a 
maid, 
Looked more like real devotion ! 

XXVII, 

And Susan's Mamma made an elegant 

fete. 
And exhibited all the family plate, 

In honor of Susan's lover ; 
For now 'twas settled, another trip 
Oyer the sea in his merchant-ship. 

And his bachelor-ship was over. 



XXVIII. 

There was an Alderman, well to do. 
Who was fond of talking about vertu, 
And had, besides, the genuine goM, 

If one might credit his telling ; 
And the boast was true beyond a doubt 
If he had only pronounced it " gout," 

According to English spelling ! 



A crockery-merchant of great parade. 
Always boasting of having made 
His large estate in the China trade ; 

Several affluent tanners ; 
A lawyer, whose most important " case " 
Was that which kept his books in place ; 
His wife, a lady of matchless grace. 
Who bought her form, and made her 
face. 

And plainly borrowed her manners ; 



A druggist ; an undevout divine ; 

A banker, who 'd got as rich as a mine 

" In the cotton trade and sugar line," 

Along the Atlantic border ; 
A doctor, fumbling his golden seals ; 
And an undertaker close at his heels. 

Quite in the natural order ! 



People of rank, and people of wealth. 
Plethoric people in delicate health 
(Who fast in public, and feast by 
stealth). 

And people slender and hearty 
Flocked in so fast, 't was plain to the 

eye 
Of any observer standing by, 
That party-spirit was running high, 

And this was the popular party ! 



To tell what griefs and woes betide 
The hapless world, from female pride, 

Were a long and dismal story ; 
Alas for Susan and womankind! 
A sudden ambition seized her mind, 

In the height of her part^^-glory. 



To pique a group of laughing girls 
Who stood admiring the Captain's curls. 

She formed the resolution 
To get a lock of her lover's hair, 
In the gaze of the guests assembled 
there, 



MIRALDA. 



33 



By some expedient, fotil or fair, 
Before the party's conclusion. 



" Only a lock, dear Captain ! no more, 
'A lock for memory,' I implore ! " 

But Jones, the gayest of quizzers, 
Replied, as he gave his eye a cock, 
" 'T is a treacherous memory needs £ 
lock," 

And dodged the envious scissors. 



Alas that Susan could n't refrain. 
In her zeal the precious lock to gain. 
From laying her hand on the lion's 

mane ! 
To see the cruel mocking, 
And hear the short, affected cough, 
The general titter, and chuckle, and 

scoff. 
When the Captain's Patent Wig came 

off, 
Was really dreadfully shocking ! 

XXXVI. 

Of Susan's swoon, the tale is told, 
That long before her earthly mould 

Regained its ghostly tenant. 
Her luckless, wigless, loveless lover 
Was on the sea, and " half-seas-over," 
Dreaming that some piratical rover 

Had carried away his Pennant ! 



MIRALDA : 

A TALE OF CUBA.l 



In Cuba, when that lovely land 

Saw Tacon reigning in his glory, 
How Justice held, at his command, 
Her balance with an even hand — 
Learn while you listen to my story. 

II. 

Miralda — such her maiden name — 
Was poor and fair, and gay and witty, 

Yet in Havana not a dame 

In satin had a fairer fame. 

Or owned a face one half so pretty. 



For years she plied her humble trade 

(To sell cigars was her vocation). 
And many a gay gallant had paid 



More pounds to please the handsome 
maid 
Than pence to buy his soul's salvation. 



But though the maiden, like the sun, 
Had smiles for every transient rover, 

Her smiles were all the bravest won ; 

Miralda gave her heart to none 
Save Pedro, her afRanced lover ; 



Pedro, a manly youth who bore 

His station well as labor's vassal. 
The while he plied a nimble oar 
For passengers, from shore to shore, 
Between the Punta and the castle. 



The handsome boatman she had learned 
To love with fondest, truest pas- 
sion; 

For him she saved the gold she earned ; 

For him Miralda proudly spurned 
The doubtful suit of men of fashion. 

Vlli 

Of these — a giddy, gaiidy train. 

Strict devotees of wanton Pleasure — 
Gay Count Almonte sought to gain 
Miralda's love ; but all in vain ; 

Her heart was still her Pedro's treas- 
ure. 

VIII. 

At last the Count, in sheer despair 

Of gaining aught by patient suing, 
Contrived — the wretch ! — a cunning 

snare. 
By wicked force to win and wear 

The prize that spurned his gentler 
wooing. 



One day a dashing Captain came. 

Before the morning sun had risen, 
And, bowing, begged to know her 

name. 
" Miralda." " Faith ! it is the same. 
Here, men, conduct the girl to 
prison ! " 



"By whose authority'?" she said. 

" The Governor's ! " " Nay, then 't is 
folly 
To question more." She dropped her 
head, 



34 



MIRALDA. 



And followed where the Captain led, 
O'er whelmed with deepest melan- 
choly. 



The prison seems a league or more 
From poor Miralda's humble shan- 
ty J 

Was e'er such treachery hefore ? 

The Count Almonte' 's at the door, 
To hand her down from the volante ! 



"Ah, coward ! " cried the angry maid ; 
" This scurvy trick ! If Tacon knew 
it, 
Your precious ' Captain,' I 'm afraid. 
Would miss, for once, his dress-parade ! 
Release me, Count, or you may rue 
it!" 



" Nay," said the Count, " that may not 
be; 

I cannot let you go at present ; 
I '11 lock you up awhile," said he ; 
" If you are lonely, send for me ; 

I '11 try to make your prison pleasant." 



Poor Pedro ! guess the lad's dismay, 

His stark astonishment, at leaiming 

His lady-love had gone away 

(But how or whither none could say). 

And left no word about returning ! 



The man who wrote that "Love is 
blind " 
Could ne'er have known a genuine 
lover ; 
Poor Pedro gave his anxious mind 
Miralda's hiding-place to find. 
And found it ere the day was over. 

XVI. 

Clad in a friar's garb, he hies 

At night to where his love is hidden, 
And, favored by his grave disguise, 
He learns that she is safe, — and flies, 
As he had entered, unforbidden. 



What could he do ■? he pondered long 

On every plausible suggestion. 
Alas ! the rich may do a wrong, 
And buy their qixittance with a song, 
If any dare the deed to question ! 



XVIIT. 

" Yet Rumor whispered long ago 

(Although she 's very fond of ly- 
ing), . . . 

' Tacon loves justice!' May be so ; 

Quien sabe ? Let his answer show ! 
I '11 go and see ; it is but trying ! " 



And, faith, the boatman kept his word ; 

To Tacon he the tale related. 
Which, when the Governor had heard. 
With righteous wrath his breast was 
stirred. 
" Swear, boy," he said, " to what 
you 've stated ! " 



He took the oath, and straight began 
For speedy justice to implore him : 
Great Tacon frowned, " Be silent, 

man ! " 
Then called the guard : away they 
ran. 
And soon the culprit stood before 
him ! 

XXI. 

Miralda too was standing near. 

To witness to his dark transgression. 

" Know you, my lord, why you are 
here 1 " 

" Yes, Excellencia, it is clear 

That I must plead an indiscretion." 

XXII. 

" The uniform your servants wore 
In this affair, — how came they by 
it? , 
Whose sword was that your Captain 

bore ? 
The crime is grave." " Nay, I implore 
Your clemency ; I can't deny it." 

XXIII. 

" This damsel here, — has any stain 
By act of 3'ours been put ujjon her 1 " 

" No, Excellencia ; all in vain 

Were bribes and threats her will to 
gain, — 
I here declare it on my honor ! " 

XXIV. 

" Enough ! " the Governor replied. 

And added, in a voice of thunder, 
" Go, bring a Priest ! " What can he- 
tide 1 



LE JARDIN MABILLE. 



35 



To shrive ? to wed 1 who can decide ? 
All stood and mused in silent wonder. 

XXV. 

The Priest was brought, — a reverend 
head, 

His hands- with holy emblems laden. 
" Now, Holy Father, please to wed, 
And let the rite be quickly sped, 

Senor Almonte' and this maiden ! " 

XXVI. 

Poor Pedro stood aghast ! With fear 
And deep dismay Miralda trembled; 
While Count Almonte, thus to hear 
The words of doom that smote his ear, 
His sudden horror ill dissembled. 



Too late ! for in that presence none 
Had dared a whisper of negation. 

The words were said ; the deed was 
done ; 

The Church had joined the two in one 
Ere they had breath for lamentation ! 



The Count rode off with drooping head. 

Cursing his fortune and his folly ; 
But ere a mile his steed had sped, 
A flash ! — and lo ! the Count is dead. 
Slain by a murderous leaden volley. 

XXIX. 

Soon came the officer who bore 
The warrant of his execution. 

With, " Excellencia, all is o'er ; 

Senor Almonte is no more ; 
Sooth ! — 't was a fearful retribu- 
tion ! " 



"Now let the herald," Tacon said 
" (That none these doings may dis- 
parage). 
Proclaim Senor Almonte dead ; 
And that Miralda take, instead. 
His lands, now hers by lawful mar- 
riage ! " 

XXXI. 

And so it was the lovers came 
To happiness beyond their dream- 
ing, 
And ever after blessed the name 
Of him who spared a maiden shame, 
And spoiled a villain's wicked schem- 
ing. 



LE JARDIN MABILLE. 



Should you e'er go to France — as of 
course j'ou intend — 

(Though the Great Exposition is now 
at an end,) 

And in Paris should stroll — as I'm cer- 
tain you will — 

In the Gardens adorned with such ex- 
quisite skill 

To call them " Elysian " is scarcely to 
reach 

What the grammars entitle a " figure of 
speech," — 

Don't fail, ere you go, for a moment to 
steal 

A look at the spot called the Jardin Ma- 
bilk. 



'T is a place of enchantment ! a rural 
retreat 

Where Nature and Art in such harmony 
meet 

To form an Elysium of music and flow- 
ers. 

Of moss-covered grottoes and fairylike 
bowers. 

Where lamps blaze in tulips, and glow- 
worms of gas 

Illumine the roses and gleam in the 
grass, — 

That, merely to see it, one cannot but 
feel 

If there 's Heaven on Earth, 't is the 
Jardin Mabille! 



But wait until midnight, or, say, one 

o'clock, 
When hither by hundreds the citizens 

flock. 
And strangers unnumbered are stroll- 
ing around 
In the serpentine walks of the beautiful 

ground ; 
Just wait, if you please, till the dance is 

begun. 
And then, at the height of the frolic 

and fun. 
Pray look where the bacchanals caper 

and reel, 
And say what you think of the Jardin 

Mabille J 



36 



THE BEAUTY OF BALLSTON. 



The music — the maddest that ever you 

heard — 
Strikes up from the stand, and away, at 

the word, 
The dancers revolve, — 't is the waltz, 

that is all ; 
The same you have witnessed at many 

a ball. 
There 's nothing extremely surprising 

in this, 
The motion is swift, but there 's little 

amiss ; 
You merely remark, " There is plenty 

of zeal 
In the dancers who dance in the Jardin 
I >> 



But see ! where the people are closing 

about 
Two brazen-browed women; and hark 

to the shout, 
" La Can-can ! — they 're at it ! " — No 

wonder you stare, 
OnS foot on the pavement, — now two 

in the air ! 
A Cockney, intent on this rarest of 

shows, 
Eetreats from the shoe that is grazing 

his nose ! 
Good lack ! till he dies, he '11 remember 

the heel 
That spoiled his new hat in the Jardin 

Mabille I 



There 's drinking and gaming at many 
a stand ; 

There's feasting and flirting on every 
hand ; 

The Payjhian queen, it were easy to tell. 

Is the Abbess, to-night, of yon anchorite 
cell; 

And the marveling Turk (for the Sul- 
tan is here ! ) 

Cries, " Allah ! Meshallah ! these Christ- 
ians are queer ! 

Such orgies as these very plainly re- 
veal 

Why they don't take their wives to the 
Jardin Mabille ! " 



" A pity ! " you sigh, — and a pit}^ it is 
Such revels should shame such a garden 
as this ; 



Where all that is charming in Nature 
and Art 

Serves only to sully and harden the 
heart. 

" The Devil's own hot-house ! " you 
musingly say. 

While turning in sadness and sorrow 
away ; 

Reflecting that Sin — as you potently 
feel — 

Is the thriftiest plant in the Jardin Ma- 
bille ! 
1867. 



THE BEAUTY OF BALLSTON. 

AFTEB PKAED.2 

In Ballston — once a famous spot, 

Ere Saratoga came in fashion — 
I had a transient fit of what 

The poets call the " tender passion " ; 
In short, when I was young and gay, 

And Eancy held the throne of liea- 
son, 
I fell in love with Julia May, 

The reigning beauty of the season. 

Her eyes were blue, and such a pair ! 

No star in heaven was ever brighter ; 
Her skin was most divinely fair ; 

I never saw a shoulder whiter. 
And there Avas something in her form 

(Juste en-bon-point, I think they term 
it) 
That really was enoug-h to warm 

The icy bosom of a hermit ! 

In sooth, she was a witching girl, 

And even women called her pretty, 
Who saw her in the waltz's whirl, 

Beneath the glare of spermaceti ; 
Or if they carped — as Candor must 

When wounded pride and envy ran- 
kle— 
'T was only that so full a bust 

Should heave above so trim an ankle ! 

One eve, remote from festive mirth. 
We talked of Nature and her treas- 
ures ; 
I said : — " Of all the joys of earth, 
Pray name the sweetest of her pleas- 
ures." 
She gazed with rapture at the moon 
That struggled through the spread- 
ing beeches, 



A REFLECTIVE RETROSPECT. 



37 



And answered thus : — "A grove — at 
noon — 
A friend — and lots of cream and 
peaches ! " 

I spoke of trees, — the stately oak 
That stands the forest's royal leader; 

The whispering pine ; and then I spoke 
Of Lebanon's imperial cedar; 

The maple of our colder clime ; 
The elm with branches intermeet- 

She thought the palm must be sub- 
lime, 
And — dates were very luscious eat- 
ing ! 

I talked about the sea and sky. 

And spoke, with something like emo- 
tion, 
Of countless pearly gems that lie 

Ungathered by the sounding ocean. 
She smiled, and said, (was it in jest ? ) 

Of all the shells that Nature boasted 
She thought that oysters were the best, 

"And, dearest, don't you love 'em 
roasted ! " 

I talked of books and classic lore ; 
I spoke of Cooper's latest fiction, 
Kecited melodies from Moore, 

And lauded Irving's charming dic- 
tion ; — 
She sat entranced ; then raised her head. 
And with a smile that seemed of heav- 
en, 
" We must return," the siren said, 
" Or we shall lose the lunch at 
'leven ! " 

I can't describe the dreadful shock, 

The mingled sense of love and pity, 
With which, next day, at ten o'clock, 

I started for Manhattan city ; 
'T was years ago, — that sad " Good-by," 

Yet o'er the scene fond memory lin- 
gers; 
I see the crystals in her eye. 

And berry-stains upon her fingers ! 

Ah me ! of so much loveliness 

It had been sweet to be the winner ; 
I know she loved me only less — 

The merest fraction — than her din- 
ner. 
'T was hard to lose so fair a prize. 
But then (I thought) 't were vastly 
harder 



To have before my jealous eyes 
A constant rival in my larder ! 



WHEN I MEAN TO MARRY. 

When do I mean to marry 1 — Well, 
'Tis idle to dispute with fate; 

But if you choose to hear me tell. 
Pray listen while I fix the date. 

When daughters haste, with eager feet, 
A mother's daily toil to share ; 

Can make the puddings which they eat, 
And mend the stockings which they 



When maidens look upon a man 
As in himself what they would marry, 

And not as army-soldiers scan 
A sutler or a commissary ; 

When gentle ladies, who have got 

The offer of a lover's hand, 
Consent to share his earthly lot. 

And do not mean his lot of land ; 

When young mechanics are allowed 
To find and wed the farmers' girls 

Who don't expect to be endowed 
With rubies, diamonds, and pearls ; 

When wives, in short, shall freely give 
Their hearts and hands to aid their 
spouses. 

And live as they were wont to live 
Within their sires' one-story houses ; 

Then, madam, — if I 'm not too old, — 
Rejoiced to quit this lonely life, 

I 'II brush my beaver ; cease to scold ; 
And look about me for a wife ! 



A REFLECTIVE RETROSPECT. 

'T IS twenty years, and something more. 

Since, all athirst for useful knowl- 
edge, 
I took some draughts of classic lore, 

Drawn very mild, at rd College ; 

Yet I remember all that one 

Could wish to hold in recollection ; 
The boys, the joys, the noise, the fun ; 

But not a single Conic Section. 



38 



THE KNOWING CHILD. 



I recollect those harsh affairs, 

The morning bells that gave us pan- 
ics ; 
I recollect the formal prayers, 

That seemed like lessons in Mechan- 
ics; 
I recollect the drowsy way 
In which the students listened to 
them, 
As clearly, in my wig, to-day. 
As when, a hoy, I slumbered through 
them. 

I recollect the tutors all ^ 

As freshly now, if I may say so, 
As any chapter I i-ecall 

In Homer or Ovidius Naso. 
I recollect, extremely well, 

" Old Hugh," the mildest of fanat- 
ics; 
I well remember Matthew Bell, 

But very faintly, Mathematics. 

I recollect the prizes paid 

For lessons fathomed to the bottom ; 
(Alas that pencil-marks should fade ! ) 

I recollect the chaps who got 'em, — 
The light eqiiestrians who soared 

O'er every passage reckoned stony ; 
And took the chalks, — but never scored 

A single honor to the pony ! 

Ah me ! what changes Time has 
wrought. 
And how predictions have miscar- 
ried ! 
A few have reached the goal they 
sought. 
And some are dead, and some are 
married ! 
And some in city journals war ; 

And some as politicians bicker ; 

And some are pleading at the bar — 

For jury-verdicts, or for liquor ! 

And some on Trade and Commerce 
wait ; 
And some in schools with dunces bat- 
tle; 
And some the Gospel propagate ; 
And some the choicest breeds of cat- 
tle ; 
And some are living at their ease ; 
And some were wrecked in " the re- 
vulsion " ; 
Some served the State for handsome 
fees, 
And one, I hear, upon compulsion ! 



Lamont, who, in his college days. 
Thought e'en a cross a moral scan- 
dal, 
Has left his Puritanic ways. 
And worships now with bell and can- 
dle ; 
And Mann, who mourned the negro's 
fate. 
And held the slave as most unlucky, 
Now holds him, at the market rate. 
On a plantation in Kentucky ! 

Tom Knox — who swore in such a tone 

It fairly might be doubted whether 
It really was himself alone. 

Or Knox and Erebus together — 
Has grown a very altered man. 

And, changing oaths for mild en- 
treaty. 
Now recommends the Christian plan 

To savages in Otaheite ! 

Alas for young ambition's vow ! 

How envious Fate may overthrow 
it ! — 
Poor Harvey is in Congress now. 

Who struggled long to be a poet ; 
Smith carves (quite well) memorial 
stones. 
Who tried in vain to make the law 
go; 
Hall deals in hides ; and " Pious 
Jones " 
Is dealing faro in Chicago ! 

And, sadder still, the brilliant Hats, 

Once honest, manly, and ambitious. 
Has taken latterly to ways 

Extremely profligate and vicious ; 
By slow degrees — I can't tell how — 

He 's reached at last the very ground- 
sel. 
And in New York he figures now, 

A member of the Common Council ! 



THE KNOWING CHILD. 

" L'Eafant terrible ! " 

" Mais, gardez-vous, mon cher,''' she said. 
And then the mother smiled ; 

" Speak very softly, if you please, 
He 's such a knowing child ! " 

My simple sister spoke the truth ; 
There is n't, I suppose. 



IDEAL AND REAL. 



39 



A thing on earth he should n't know 
But what that urcliin knows ! 

And all he knows the younker tells 

In such a knowing way ; 
For what he knows, you may be sure, 

He does not fear to say. 

He knows he is an arrant churl, 
Although he looks so mild ; 

And — worst of all — full well he knows 
He is a knowing child. 

He knows — I 've often told him so — 

I am averse to noise ; 
He knows his uncle is n't fond 

Of martial little boys ; 

And that, no doubt, is why he pounds 

His real soldier drum 
Beneath my window, morn and night, 

Until my ear is numb ! 

He knows my age — that dreadful 
boy — 

Exactly to a day ; 
He knows precisely why my locks 

Have not a thread of gray. 

He knows — and says (what shocking 
talk 

Eor one so very small !) 
My head — without my curly scratch — 

Looks like a billiard ball ! . 

He knows that Mary's headache means 

She does n't wish to go ; 
And lets the sacred secret out 

Before her waiting beau ! 

He knows why Clara always coughs 

"When she is asked to sing ; 
He knows (and blahs!) that Julia's bust 

Is not the real thing ! 

He knows about the baby too ; 

Though he has often heard 
The nurse's old, convenient tale, 

He don't believe a word. 

And when those ante-natal caps 

Their future use disclose. 
He knows again — the knowing imp — 

Just what his uncle knows ! 

Ah ! well ; no doubt, what Time may 
bring 
'T is better not to see ; 



I know not what the changeful Fates 
May have in store for me ; 

But if within the nuptial noose 
My neck should be beguiled, 

Heaven save the house from childless- 
ness 
And from a knowing child ! 



IDEAL AND KEAL. 



Some years ago, when I was young, 

And Mrs. Jones was Miss Delancy; 
When wedlock's canopy was hung 

With curtains from the loom of fancy; 
I used to paint my future life 

With most poetical precision, — 
My special wonder of a wife; 

My happy days ; my nights Elysian. 

I saw a lady, rather small 

(A Juno was my strict abhorrence), 
With flaxen hair, contrived to fall 

In careless ringlets, a la Lawrence ; 
A blonde complexion ; eyes that drew 

From autumn clouds their azure 
brightness ; 
The foot of Hebe ; arms whose hue 

Was perfect in its milky whiteness ! 

I saw a party, quite select, — 

There might have been a baker's 
dozen ; 
A parson, of the ruling sect ; 

A bridemaid, and a city cousin ; 
A formal speech to me and mine 

(Its meaning I could scarce discover) ; 
A taste of cake ; a sip of wine ; 

Some kissing — and the scene was 
over ! 

I saw a baby — one — no more ; 

A cherub pictured, rather faintly, 
Beside a pallid dame who wore 

A countenance extremely saintly. 
I saw, — but nothing could I hear. 

Except the softest prattle, maybe. 
The merest breath upon the ear, — 

So quiet was that blesse'd baby ! 

REAL. 

I see a woman, rather tall, 
And yet, I own, a comely lady ; 



40 



THE GAME OF LIFE. 



Complexion — such as I must call 
(To be exact) a little shady ; 

A hand not handsome, yet confessed 
A generous one for love or pity; 

A nimble foot, and — neatly dressed 
In No. 5 — extremely pretty ! 

I see a group of boys and girls 

Assembled round the knee paternal 
With ruddy cheeks and tangled curls, 

And manners not at all supernal. 
And one has reached a manly size ; 

And one aspires to woman's stature ; 
And one is quite a recent prize, 

And all abound in human nature ! 

The boys are hard to keep in trim ; 

The girls are often rather trying ; 
And baby — like the cherubim — 

Seems very fond of steady crying ! 
And yet the precious little one, 

His mother's dear, despotic master, 
Is worth a thousand babies done 

In Parian or in alabaster ! 

And oft that stately dame and I, 

When laughing o'er our early dream- 
ing-. 
And marking, as the years go by, 

How idle was our youthful schem- 
ing, 
Confess the wiser Power that knew 

How Duty every jo^r enhances, 
And gave us blessings rich and true, 

And better far than all our fancies. 



THE GAME OF LIFE. 

A HOMILT. 

Theee 's a game much in fashion, — I 

think it 's called Euchre 
(Though I never have played it, for 

pleasure or lucre). 
In which, when the cards are in certain 

conditions. 
The players appear to have changed 

their positions. 
And one of them cries, in a confident 

tone, 
" I think I may venture to go it alone ! 

While watching the game, 't is a whim 

of the bard's 
A moral to draw from that skirmish of 

cards, 

I 



And to fancy he finds in the trivial 

strife 
Some excellent hints for the battle of 

Life; 
Where — whether the prize be a ribbon 

or throne — 
The winner is he who can go it alone ! 

When great Galileo proclaimed that the 
world 

In a regular orbit was ceaselessly 
whirled, 

And got — not a convert — for all of 
his pains. 

But only derision and prison and chains, 

"It moves, /or all that! " was his an- 
swering tone. 

For he knew, like the Earth, he could 
go it alone ! 

When Kepler, with intellect piercing 

afar. 
Discovered the laws of each planet and 

star. 
And doctors, who ought to have lauded 

his name. 
Derided his learning, and blackened his 

fame, 
" I can wait ! " he replied, " till the 

truth you sliall own " ; 
For he felt in his heart he could go it 

alone ! 

Alas ! for the player who idly depends, 
In the struggle of life, upon kindred or 

friends ; 
Whatever the value of blessings like 

these. 
They can never atone for inglorious 

ease, 
Nor comfort the coward who finds, with 

a groan. 
That his crutches have left him to go it 

alone ! 

There 's something, no doubt, in the 

hand you may hold, 
Health, family, culture, wit, beauty, 

and gold 
The fortunate owner may fairly regard 
As, each in its way, a most excellent 

card; 
Yet the game may be lost, with all 

these for your own, 
Unless you 've the courage to go it alone ! 

In battle or business, whatever the game. 
In law or in love, it is ever the same ; 



ABOUT HUSBANDS. 



41 



In the struggle for power, or the scram- 
ble for pelf, 

Let this be your motto, — Rely on your- 
self! 

For, whether the prize be a ribbon or 
throne, 

The victor is he who can go it alone ! 



THE PUZZLED CENSUS TAKER. 

" Got any boys ? " the Marshal said 
To a lady from over the Rhine; 

And the lady shook her flaxen head, 
And civilly answered, " Nein ! " * 

" Got any girls ? " the Marshal said 
To the lady from over the Rhine ; 

And again the lady shook her head, 
And civiUy answered, " Nein ! " 

" But some are dead 1 " the Marshal 
said 

To the lady from over the Rhine ; 
And again the lady shook her head. 

And civilly answered, " Nem ! " 

" Husband of course 1 " the Marshal 
said 

To the lady from over the Rhine ; 
And again she shook her flaxen head. 

And civilly answered, " Nein ! " 

" The devil you have ! " the Marshal 
said 

To the lady from over the Rhine ; 
And again she shook her flaxen head. 

And civilly answered, " Nein ! " 

"Now what do you mean by shaking 
your head. 

And always answering, ' Nine ' ? " 
"Ich kann nicht Englisch ! " civilly said 

The lady from over the Rhine. 



THE HEART AND THE LIVER. 



MUSINGS OP A DYSPEPTIC. 



She 's broken-hearted, I have heard, — 
Whate'er may be the reason 

* Nein, pronounced nine, is the German for 

"No." 



(Such things will happen now and then 
In Love's tempestuous season) ; 

But still I marvel she should show 
No plainer outward token, 

If such a vital inward part 
Were very badly broken ! 



She 's broken-hearted, I am told. 

And so, of course, believe it; 
When truth is fairly certified 

I modestly receive it ; 
But after such an accident, - 

It surely is a blessing, 
It doesn't in the least impair 

Her brilliant style of dressing ! 



She 's broken-hearted : who can doubt 

The noisy voice of Rumor ? 
And yet she seems — for such a wreck -^ 

In no unhappy humor ; 
She sleeps (I hear) at proper hours, 

When other folks are dozy ; 
Her eyes are sparkling as of yore, 

And still her cheeks are rosy ! 



She 's broken-hearted, and they say 

She never can recover ; 
And then — in not the mildest way - 

They blame some fickle lover ; 
I know she 's dying — by degrees — 

But, sure as I 'm a sinner, 
I saw her eat, the other day, 

A most prodigious dinner ! 



Alas ! that I, in idle rhyme. 

Should e'er profanely question 
(As I have done while musing o'er 

My chronic indigestion) 
If one should not receive the blow 

With blessings on the Giver, 
That only falls upon the heart, 

And kindly spares the Livek ! 



ABOUT HUSBANDS. 

" A man is, in general, better pleased when 
lie has a good dinner upon his table, than when 
his vfiie speaks Greek.-' — Sam. Johnson. 

Johnson was right. I don't agree to all 
The solemn dogmas of the rough old 
stager ; 



42 



WHERE THERE 'S A WILL THERE 'S A WAY. 



But very much approve wljat one may 
call 
The minor morals of the " Ursa Ma- 
jor." 

Johnson was right. Although some 
men adore 
Wisdom in woman, and with leai'ning 
cram her, 
There is n't one in ten but thinks far 
more 
Of his own grub than of his spouse's 
grammar. 

I know it is the greatest shame in life ; 
But who among them (save, perhaps, 
myself) 
Returning huugiy home, but asks his 
wife 
What beef — not books — she has 
upon the shelf 1 

Though Greek and Latin be the lady's 
boast, 
They 're little valued by her loving 
mate ; 
The kind of tongue that husband's rel- 
ish most 
Is modern, boiled, and served upon a 
plate. 

Or if, as fond ambition may command. 
Some home-made verse the happy 
matron show him, 
What mortal spouse but from her dainty 
hand 
Would sooner see a pudding than a 
poem "? 

Young lady, — deep in love with Tom 
or Harry, — 
'T is sad to tell you such a tale as 
this ; 
But here 's the moral of it : Do not 
marry ; 
Or, marrying, take your lover as he is, 

A very man, with something of the 

brute 

(Unless he prove a sentimental noddy) , 

With passions strong and appetite to 

boot, 

A thirsty soul within a hungry body. 

A very man, — not one of nature's 
clods, — 
With human failings, whether saint 
or sinner ; 



Endowed, perhaps, with genius from the 
gods, 
But apt to take his temper from his 
dinner. 



WHEEE THERE 'S A WILL 
THERE 'S A WAY. 

" Aut viam inveniam, aut faciam," 

It was a noble Roman, 

In Rome's imperial day, 
Who heard a coward croaker, 

Before the Castle, say : 
" They 're safe in such a fortress ; 

There is no way to shake it ! " 
" On — on ! " exclaimed the hero, 

" / 'II find a way, or make it ! " 

Is Fame your aspiration ? 

Her path is steep and high ; 
In vain he seeks her temple. 

Content to gaze and sigh : 
The shining throne is waiting, 

But he alone can take it 
Who says, with Roman firmness, 

"Fit find a ivay, or make it I " 

Is Learning your ambition 1 

There is no royal road ; 
Alike the peer and peasant 

Must climb to her abode : 
Who feels the thirst of knowledge. 

In Helicon may slake it, 
If he has still the Roman will 

" To find a ivay, or make it! " 

Are Riches worth the getting ? 

They must be bravely sought ; 
With wishing and with fretting 

The boon cannot be bought : 
To all the prize is open, 

But only he can take it 
Who says, with Roman courage, 

" I'll find a way, or make it ! " 

In Love's impassioned warfare 

The tale has ever been. 
That victory crowns the valiant, — 

The brave are they who win : 
Though strong is Beauty's castle, 

A lover still make take it. 
Who says, with Roman daring, 

" I'll find a way, or make it ! " 



A BENEDICT'S APPEAL TO A BACHELOR. 



43 



A BENEDICT'S APPEAL TO A 
BACHELOR. 



' Double 1 double I 



■ Shakespeare. 



Dear Charles, be persuaded to wed, — 

For a sensible fellow like you, 
It 's high time to think of a bed. 

And muffins and coffee for two ! 
So have done with your doubt and de- 
laying, — 

With a soul so adapted to mingle. 
No wonder the neighbors are saying 

'T is singular you should be single ! 



Don't say that you have n't got time, 

That business demands your atten- 
tion, 
There 's not the least reason nor rhyme 

In the wisest excuse you can men- 
tion. 
Don't tell me about " other fish, " — 

Your duty is done when you buy 'em ; 
And you never will relish the dish. 

Unless you 've a woman to fry 'em ! 



Don't listen to querulous stories 

By desperate damsels related. 
Who sueer at connubial glories, 

Because they 've known couples mis- 
mated. 
Such people, if they had their pleasure. 

Because silly biirgains are made, 
Would deem it a rational measure 

To lay an embargo ou trade ! 



You may dream of poetical fame, 

But your wishes may chance to mis- 
carry ; 
The best way of sending one's name 

To posterity, Charles, is to marry ! 
And here I am willing to own, 

After soberly thinking upon it, 
I 'd very much rather be known 

For a beautiful son, than a sonnet ! 



To Procrastination be deaf 

(A homily sent from above), — 

The scoundrel 's not only " the thief 
Of time," but of beauty and love ! 

Oh, delay not one moment to win 
A prize that is truly worth wiuninr 



Celibacy, Charles, is a sin, 
And sadly prolific of sinning ! 



Then pray bid your doubting good-by, 

And dismiss all fantastic alarms. 
I'll be sworn you 've a girl in your 
eye 

'T is your duty to have in your 
arms ! 
Some trim little maiden of twenty, 

A beautiful, azure-eyed elf, 
With virtues and graces in plenty. 

And no failing but loving yourself ! 



Don't search for " an angel " a minute ; 

For granting you win in the sequel. 
The deuce, after all, would be in it, 

With a union so very unequal! 
The angels, it must be confessed. 

In this world are rather uncommon ; 
And allow me, dear Charles, to sug- 
gest 

You '11 be better content with a 
woman ! 

VIII. 

I could furnish a bushel of reasons 

For choosing a conjugal mate : 
It agrees with all climates and sea- 
sons. 

And gives you a " double estate " ! 
To one's parents 't is (gratefully) due, — 

Just think what a terrible thing 
'T would have been, sir, for me and for 
you, 

If ours had forgotten the ring ! 



Then there 's the economy — clear, 

By poetical algebra shown, — 
If your wife has a grief or a fear. 

One half, by the law, is your own! 
And as to the joys — by division. 

They 're nearly quadrupled, 't is said 
(Though I never could see the addition 

Quite plain in the item of bread). 



Remember, I do not pretend 

There 's anything " perfect " about it. 
But this I '11 aver to the end. 

Life 's very imperfect without it. 
'T is not that there 's " poetry " in it, — 

As, doubtless, there may be to those 
Endowed with a genius to win it, — 

But I '11 warrant you excellent prose ! 



44 



"DO YOU THINK HE IS BlARRIEDr 



Then, Charles, be persuaded to wed, — 

For a sensible fellow like you. 
It 's high time to think of a bed, 

And muiiins and coffee for two ; 
So have done with your doubt and de- 
laying, — 

"With a soul so adapted to mingle, 
No wonder the neighbors are saying 

*Tis singular you should be single ! 



THE GHOST-PLAYER. 

A BALLAD. 

Tom Goodwin was an actor-man, 
Old Drury's pride and boast 

In all the light and sprite-ly parts, 
Especially the Ghost. 

Now, Tom was very fond of drink, 

Of almost every sort, 
Comparative and positive, 

From porter up to port. 

But grog, like grief, is fatal stuff 

For any man to sup ; 
For when it fails to puU him down. 

It 's sure to blow him up. 

And so it fared with ghostly Tom, 

Who day by day was seen 
A-swelling, till (as lawyers say ) 

He fairly lost his lean. 

At length the manager observed 

He 'd better leave his post, 
And said he played the very deuce 

Whene'er he played the Ghost. 

'T was only t' other night he saw 

A fellow swing his hat. 
And heard him cry, " By all the gods ! 

The Ghost is getting fat ! " 

'T would never do, the case was plain ; 

His eyes he couldn't shut ; 
Ghosts should n't make the people laugh. 

And Tom was quite a butt. 

Tom's actor friends said ne'er a word 
To cheer his drooping heart ; 

Though more than one was burning 
up 
With zeal to " take his part." 



Tom argued very plausibly ; 

He said he did n't doubt 
That Hamlet's father drank, and 
grew. 

In years, a little stout. . 

And so 't was natural, he said. 

And quite a proper plan, 
To have his spirit represent 

A portly sort of man. 

'T was all in vain, the manager 

Said he was not in sport, 
And, like a gen'ral, bade poor Tom 

Surrender up h.\s forte. 

He 'd do, perhaps, in heavy parts. 
Might answer for a monk. 

Or porter to the elephant. 
To carry round his trunk ; 

But in the Ghost his day was past, — 

He 'd never do for that ; 
A Ghost might just as well be dead 

As plethoric and fat ! 

Alas ! next day poor Tom was found 

As stiff as any post ; 
For he had lost his character, 

And given up the Ghost ! 



"DO YOU THINK HE IS MAR- 
RIED ? " 

Madam, — you are very pressing, 
And I can't decline the task ; 

With the slightest gift of guessing, 
You would scarcely need to ask. 

Don't you see a hint of marriage 

In his sober-sided face 1 
In his rather careless carriage. 

And extremely rapid pace ? 

If he 's not committed treason, ' 
Or some wicked action done. 

Can you see the faintest reason 
Why a bachelor should run 1 

Why should he be in a flurry 1 

But a loving wife to greet 
Is a circumstance to hurry 

The most dignified of feet. 

When afar the mau has spied her. 
If the grateful, happy elf 



A COLLEGE REMINISCENCE. 



45 



Does not haste to be beside her, 
He must be beside himself ! 

It is but a trifle, maybe, — 

But observe his pnicticed tone, 

Wlieu lie cahns your stormy baby, 
Just as if it were his own ! 

Do you think a certain meekness 
You have mentioned in his looks 

Is a chronic optic weakness 

That has come of reading books ? 

Did you ever see his vision 
Peering underneath a hood, 

Save enough for recognition, 
As a civil person should ? 

Could a Capuchin be colder 
When he glances, as he must, 

At a finely rounded shoulder, 
Or a proudly swelling bust? 

Madam, think of every feature, 
Then deny it, if you can, 

He 's a fond connubial creature. 
And a very married man ! 



A COLLEGE EEMINISCENCE. 

ADDRESSED TO THOMAS B. TlIOEl-E, 

ESQ., OF NEW ORLEANS. 

Dear Tom, have you forgot the day 
Wlien, long ago, we used to stray 

Among the " Haddams " ? 
Where, in the mncky road, a man 
(The road was built on Adam's plan, 

And not Mc A dam's !) 

Went down — down — down, one stor- 
my night. 
And disappeared from human sight 

All save his hat, — 
Which raised in sober minds a sense 
Of some mysterious Providence 

In sparing that ? 

I think 't will please you, Tom, to hear 
The man who in that night of fear 

Went down terrestrial. 
Worked out a passage like a miner. 
And, pricking through somewhere in 
China, 

Came up Celestial ! 



Ah ! those were memorable times, 
And worth embalming in my rhymes, 

When, at the summons 
Of chapel bell, we left our sport 
Eor lessons most uncommon short, 

Or shorter commons ! 

I mind me, Tom, you often drew 
Nice portraits, and exceeding true — 

To your intention ! 
The most impracticable faces 
Discovered unsuspected graces. 

By your invention. 

On brainless heads the finest bumps 
(Erected b}' your pencil-thumps) 

Were plainly seen ; 
Your Yankees all were very Greek, 
Uuchosen aunts grew " choice an- 
tique," 

And blues turned green ! 

The swarthy suddenly were fair. 
And yellow changed to auburn hair 

Or sunny flax ; 
And people very thin and flat, 
Like Aldermen grew round and fat 

On canvas-backs ! 

I well remember all your art 

To make the best of every part, — 

I am certain no man 
Could better coax a wrinkle out, 
Or elevate a lowly snout, 

Or snub a Eoman ! 

Young gentlemen with leaden eyes 
Stared wildly out on lowering skies, 

Quite Corsair-fashion ; 
And greenish orbs got very blue. 
And linsey-woolsey maidens grew 

Almost Circassian ! 

And many an ancient maiden aunt 
As lean and lank as John O'Gaunt, 

Or even lanker. 
By art transformed and newly drest, 
Could boast for once as full a chest 

As — any banker ! 

Ah ! we were jolly youngsters then, 
But now we 're sober-sided men. 

Half through life's journey ; 
And you 've turned author, Tom, I 

hear, — 
And I — you'll think it very queer — 

Have turned attorney 1 



46 



THE LADY ANN. 



Heaven bless you, Tom, in house and 

heart ! 
(That we should live so far apart 

Is much a pity,) 
And may you multiply your name, 
And have a very " crescent " fame. 

Just like your city ! 



EARLY RISING. 

" God bless the man who first invented 

sleep ! " 
So Sancho Panza said, and so say I : 
And bless him, also, that he did n't 

keep 
His great discovery to himself; nor 

try 
To make it — as the lucky fellow 

might — 
A close monopoly by patent-right ! 

Yes ; bless the man who first invented 
sleep 
(I really can't avoid the iteration) ; 

But blast the man, with curses loud and 
deep, 
Whate'er the rascal's name, or age, 
or station, 

Who first invented, and went round ad- 
vising. 

That artificial cut-off, — Early Rising ! 

" Rise with the lark, and with the lark 

to bed," 
Observes some solemn, sentimental 

owl ; 
Maxims like these are very cheaply 

said ; 
But, ere you make yourself a fool or 

fowl. 
Pray just inquire about his rise and fall, 
And whether larks have any beds at 

all! 

The time for honest folks to be abed 
Is in the morning, if I reason right; 

And he who cannot keep his precious 
head 
Upon his pillow till it 's fairly light, 

And so enjoy his forty morning winks, 

Is up to knavery ; or else — he drinks ! 

Thomson, who sung about the "Sea- 
sons," said 
It was a glorious thing to rise in sea- 
son ; 



But then he said it — lying — in his 
bed. 
At ten o'clock, A. M., — the very rea- 
son 

He wrote so charmingly. The simple 
fact is. 

His preaching was n't sanctioned by his 
practice. 

'T is, doubtless, well to be sometimes 

awake, — 
Awake to duty, and awake to truth, — 
But when, alas ! a nice review we take 
Of our best deeds and days, we find, 

in sooth. 
The hours that leave the slightest cause 

to weep 
Are those we passed in childhood or 

asleep ! 

'T is beautiful to leave the world awhile 
For the soft visions of the gentle 
night ; 
And free, at last, frOm mortal care or 
guile. 
To live as only in the angels' sight. 
In sleep's sweet realm so cosily shut in. 
Where, at the worst, we only dream of 
sin ! 

So let us sleep, and give the Maker 

praise. 
I like the lad who, v^'hen his father 

thought 
To clip his morning nap by hackneyed 

phrase 
Of vagrant worm by early songster 

caught. 
Cried, " Served him right ! — it 's not at 

all surprising ; 
The worm was punished, sir, for early 

rising ! " 



THE LADY ANN. 



" She 'll soon be here, the Lady Ann," 

The children cried in glee ; 
" She always comes at four o'clock, 

And now it 's striking three." 

At stroke of four the lady came, 

A lady passing fair ; 
And she sat and gazed adown the road. 

With a long and eager stare. 



EOW THE MONEY GOES. 



47 



" The mail ! the mail ! " the idlers cried, 
At sight of a coach-and-four ; 

" The mail ! the mail ! " and at the 
word, 
The coach was at the door. 

Up sprang in haste the Lady Ann, 
And marked with anxious eye 

The travelers, who, one by one, 
Were slowly passing by. 

"Alack ! alack ! " the lady cried, 

" He surely named to-day ; 
He '11 come to-morrow, then," she 
sighed. 

And, turning, strolled away. 

" 'T is passing odd, upon my word," 

The landlord now began ; 
" A strange romance ! — that woman, 
sirs. 

Is called the Lady Ann. 

" She dwells hard by upon the hill. 

The widow of Sir John, 
Who died abroad, come August next, 

Just twenty years agone. 

" A hearty neighbor, sirs, was he, 

A bold, true-hearted man ; 
And a fonder pair was seldom seen 

Than he and Lady Ann. 

" They scarce had been a twelvemonth 
wed, 

When — ill betide the day ! — 
Sir John was called to go in haste 

Some hundred miles away. 

" Ne'er lovers in the fairy tales 

A truer love could boast ; 
And many were the gentle words 

That came and went by post. 

" A month or more had passed away, 
When by the post came down 

The joyous news that such a day 
Sir John would be in town. 

" Full gleesome was the Lady Ann 

To read the welcome word, 
And promptly at the hour she came. 

To meet her wedded lord. 

"Alas ! alas ! he came not back. 

There f>nly came instead 
A mournful message by the post, 

That good Sir John was dead ! 



" One piercing shriek, and Lady Ann 
Had swooned upon the floor : 

Good sirs, it was a fearful grief 
That gentle lady bore ! 

" We raised her up; her ebbing life 

Began again to dawn ; 
She muttered wildly to herself, — 

'T was plain her wits were gone. 

" A strange forgetf ulness came o'er 

Her sad, bewildered mind. 
And to the grief that drove her mad 

Her memory was blind ! 

" Ah ! since that hour she little wots 

Full twenty years are fled ! 
She little wots, poor Lady Ann ! 

Her wedded lord is dead. 

" But each returning day she deems 

The day he fixed to come ; 
And ever at the wonted hour 

She 's here to greet him home. 

" And when the coach is at the door, 

She marks with eager eye 
The travelers, as one by one 

They 're slowly passing by. 

" ' Alack ! ' she cries, in plaintive tone, 

' He surely named to-day ! 
He '11 come to-morrow, then,' she sighs. 

And, turning, strolls away." 



HOW THE MONEY GOES. 

How goes the Money 1 — Well, 

I 'm sure it isn't hard to tell; 

It goes for rent and water-rates. 

For bread and butter, coal and grates. 

Hats, caps, and carpets, hoops and 

hose, — 
And that 's the way the Money goes ! 

How goes the Money 1 — Nay, 
Don't everybody know the way 1 
It goes for bonnets, coats, and capes, 
Silks, satins, muslins, velvets, crapes, 
Shawls, ribbons, furs, and furbelows, — 
And that 's the way the Money goes ! 

How goes the Money ? — Sure, 

I wish the ways were something fewer; 

It goes for wages, taxes, debts ; 

It goes for presents, goes for bets, 



48 



SAINT JONATHAN. 



For paint, pommade, and eau de rose, — 
And that 's the way the Money goes ! 

How goes the Money ? — Now, 
I 've scarce begun to mention how ; 
It goes for laces, feathers, rings. 
Toys, dolls — and other baby -things, 
Whips, whistles, candies, bells, and 

bows, — 
And that 's the way the Money goes ! 

How goes the Money ? — Come, 

I know it does n't go for rum ; 

It goes for schools and sabbath chimes, 

It goes for charity — sometimes ; 

Tor missions, and such things as those, — 

And that 's the way the Money goes ! 

How goes the Money ? — There ! 
I 'm out of patience, I declare ; 
It goes for plays, and diamond pins, 
For public alms, and private sins, 
For hollow shams, and silly shows, — 
And that 's the way the Money goes 1 



SAINT JONATHAN. 

There 's many an excellent Saint, — 

St. George, with his dragon and 
lance ; 
St. Patrick, so jolly and quaint ; 

St. Vitus, the saint of the dance ; 
St. Denis, the snint of the Gaul ; 

St. Andrew, the saint of the Scot ; 
But Jonathan, youngest of all. 

Is the mightiest saint of the lot ! 

He wears a most serious face, 

Well worthy a martyr's possessing ; 
But it is n't all owing to grace. 

But partly to thinking and guess- 
'ing; 
In sooth, our American Saint 

Has rather a secular bias. 
And I never have heard a complaint 

Of his being excessively pious ! 

He 's fond of financial improvement. 

And is always extremely inclined 
To be starting some practical movement 

For mending the morals and mind. 
Do you ask me what wonderful labors 

St. Jonathan ever has done 
To rank with his Calendar neighbors ^ 

Just listen, a moment, to one : 



One day when a flash in the air 

Split his meeting-house fairly asun- 
der. 
Quoth Jonathan, " Now, I declare, 
They 're dreadfully careless with 
thunder ! " 
So he fastened a rod to the steeple ; 
And now, when the lightning comes 
round. 
He keeps it from building and people. 
By running it into the ground ! 

Reflecting, with pleasant emotion, 

On the capital job he had done, 
Quoth Jonathan : " I have a notion 

Improvements have barely begun ; 
If nothing 's created in vain, — 

As ministers often inform us, — 
The lightning that 's wasted, 't is 
plain 

Is really something enormous ! " 

While ciphering over the thing, 

At length he discovered a plan 
To catch the Electrical King, 

And make him the servant of man ; 
And now, in an orderly way, 

He flies on the fleetest of pinions, 
And carries the news of the day 

All over his master's dominions ! 

One morning, Avhile taking a stroll, 

He heard a lugubrious cry, — 
Like the shriek of a suffering soul, — 

In a Hospital standing near by ; 
Anon, such a terrible groan 

Saluted St. Jonathan's ear 
That his bosom — which was n't of 
stone — 

Was melted with pity to hear. 

That night he invented a charm 

So potent that folks who employ it. 
In losing a leg or an arm. 

Don't suffer, but rather enjoy it ! 
A miracle, you must allow. 

As good as the best of his brothers, — 
And blessed St. Jonathan now 

Is patron of cripples and mothers ! 

There 's many an excellent Saint, — 

St. George, with his dragon and lance ; 
St. Patrick, so jolly and quaint ; 

St. Vitus, the saint of the dance ; 
St. Denis, the saint of the Gaul ; 

St. Andrew, the saint of tlic Scot; 
But Jonathan, youngest of all, 

Is the mightiest saint of the lot ! 



TALE OF A DOG. 



49 



SONG or SARATOGA. 

" Pkat, what do they do at the 
Springs 1 " 

The question is easy to ask ; 
But to answer it fully, my dear, 

Were rather a serious task. 
And yet, in a bantering way, 

As the magpie or mocking-bird 
sings, 
I '11 venture a bit of a song 

To tell what they do at the Springs ! 

Imprimis, my darling, they drink 

The waters so sparkling and clear ; 
Though the flavor is none of the best, 

And the odor exceedingly queer ; 
But the fluid is mingled, you know, 

With wholesome medicinal things, 
So they drink, and they drink, and they 
drink, — 

And that 's what they do at the 
Springs ! 

Then with appetites keen as a knife, 

They hasten to breakfast or dine 
(The latter precisely at three. 

The former from seven till nine). 
Ye gods ! what a rustle and rush 

When the eloquent dinner-bell rings! 
Then they eat, and they eat, and they 
eat, — 

And that 's what they do at the 
Springs ! 

Now they stroll in the beautiful walks. 

Or loll in the shade of the trees ; 
Where many a whisper is heard 

That never is told by the breeze ; 
And hands are commingled with 
hands. 
Regardless of conjugal rings ; 
And they flirt, and they flirt, and they 
flirt, — 
And that 's what they do at the 
Springs ! 

The drawing-rooms now are ablaze, 

And music is shrieking away ; 
Terpsichore governs the hour, 

And Fashion was never so gay ! 
An arm round a tapering waist, 

How closely and fondly it clings ! 
So they waltz, and they Avaltz, and they 
waltz, — 

And that 's what they do at the 
Springs ! 



In short — as it goes in the world — 
They eat, and they drink, and they 
sleep ; 
They talk, and they walk, and they 
woo; 
They sigh, and they laugh, and they 
weep; 
They read, and they ride, and they 
dance 
(With other unspeakable things) ; 
They pray, and they play, and they 
pay, — 
And that 's what they do at the 
Springs ! 



TALE OF A DOG. 

IN TWO PAKTS. 
PAKT FIRST. 

I. 
" CuKSB on all curs ! " I heard a cynic 
cry; 
A wider malediction than he 
thought, — 
For what 's a cynic ? — Had he cast his 
eye 
Within his dictionary, he had caught 
This much of learning, — the untutored 

elf,- 
That he, unwittingly, had cursed him- 
self ! 



"Beware of dogs," the great Apostle 
writes ; 
A rather brief and sharp philippic sent 
To the Philippians. The paragraph in- 
vites 
Some little question as to its intent, 
Among the best expositors ; but then 
I find they all agree that " dogs " meant 
men! 



Beware of men ! a moralist might 
say. 
And women, too ; 't were but a pru- 
dent hint, 

Well worth observing in a general 
way, 
But having surely no conclusion in t 

(As saucy satirists are wont to rail), 

AH men are faithless, and all women 
frail. 



60 



TALE OF A DOG. 



IV. 

And so of dogs 't were wrong to dog- 
matize 
Without discrimination or degree ; 

For one may see, with half a pair of 
eyes, 
That they have characters as well as 
we : 

I hate the rascal who can walk the street 

Caning all canines he may chance to 
meet. 



I had a dog that was not all a dog, 
For in his nature there was something 
human ; 
Wisely he looked as any pedagogue ; 
Loved funerals and weddings, like a 
woman ; 
With this (still human) weakness, I con- 
fess. 
Of ail ways judging people by their dress. 



He hated beggars, it was very clear, 
And oft was seen to drive them from 
the door ; 
Bnt that was education ; — for a year, 

Ere yet his puppyhood was fairly o'er, 
lie lived with a Philanthropist, and 

caught 
His practices ; the precepts he forgot ! 



Which was a pity ; yet the dog, I grant, 
Led, on the whole, a very worthy 

life. 
To teach you industry, " Go to the 

ant " 
(I mean the insect, not your uncle's 

wife) ; 
But — though the counsel sounds a little 

rude — 
Go to the dogs, for love and gratitude. 

PART SECOND. 
VIII. 
" Throw physic to the dogs," the poet 
cries ; 
A downright insult to the canine 
race ; 
There 's not a puppy but is far too wise 

To put a pill or powder in his face. 
Perhaps the poet merely meant to say, 
That physic, thrown to dogs, is thrown 
away, — 



Which (as the parson said about the 
dice) 
Is the best throw that any man can 
choose ; 

Take, if you 're ailing, medical ad- 
vice, — 
Minus the medicine, — which, of 
course, refuse. 

Drugging, no doubt, occasioned Homoe- 
opathy, 

And all the dripping horrors of Hydrop- 
athy. 



At all events, 't is fitting to remark. 
Dogs spurn at drugs ; their daily bark 
and whine 

Are not at all the musty wihe and bark 
The doctors give to patients in de- 
cline ; 

And yet a dog who felt a fracture's 
smart 

Once thanked a kind chirurgeon for his 
art. 



I 've heard a story, and believe it true. 
About a dog that chanced to break 

his leg ; 
His master set it, and the member grew 
Once more a sound and serviceable 

peg ; 
And how d' ye think the happy dog ex- 

prest 
The grateful feelings of his glowing 

breast ? 



'T was not in words ; the customary 

Of human debtors for a friendly act ; 
For dogs their thoughts can neither sing 
nor say 
E'en in " dog-latin," which (a curious 
fact) 
Is spoken only — as a classic grace — 
By grave Professors of the human race ! 



No, 't was in deed ; the very briefest tail 
Declared his deep emotions at his 
cure ; 
Short, but significant; — one could not 
fail. 
From the mere wagging of his cyno- 
sure 



THE JOLLY MARINER. 



51 



(" Surgens e puppi"), and his ears agog, 
To see the fellow was a grateful dog ! 



One day — still mindful of his late dis- 
aster — 
He wandered off the village to ex- 
plore ; 

And brought another dog unto his mas- 
ter. 
Lame of a leg, as he had been before ; 

As who should say, " You see ! — the dog 
is lame : 

You doctored me, pray doctor him the 
same ! " 



So runs the story, and you have it 

cheap, — 
Dog-cheap, as doubtless such a tale 

should be ; 
The moral, surely, is n't hard to reap : — 
Be prompt to listen unto mercy's 

plea ; 
The good you get, diffuse ; it will not 

hurt you 
E'en from a dog to learn a Christian 

virtue ! 



THE JOLLY MAEINEE. 

A BALLAD. 

It was a jolly mariner 

As ever hove a log ; 
He wore his trousers wide and free, 

And always ate his prog. 
And blessed his eyes, in sailor-wise, 

And never shirked his grog. 

Up spoke this jolly mariner, 

Whilst walking up and down : — 

" The briny sea has pickled me, 
And done me very brown ; 

But here I goes, in these here clo'es, 
A-cruisiug in the town ! " 

The first of all the curious things 
That chanced his eye to meet, 

As this undaunted mariner 
Went sailing up the street, 

Was, tripping with a little cane, 
A dandy all complete ! 

He stopped, — that jolly mariner, — 
And eyed the stranger well : — 



" What that may be," he .said, says he, 

" Is more than I can tell ; 
But ne'er before, on sea or shore, 

Was such a heavy swell ! " 

He met a lady in her hoops, 
And thus she heard him hail : — 

" Now blow me tight ! but there 's a 
sight 
To manage in a gale ! 

I never saw so small a craft 
With such a spread o' sail ! 

" Observe the craft before and aft, — 
She 'd make a pretty prize ! " 

And then in that improper way 
He spoke about his eyes, 

That mariners are wont to use 
In anger or surprise. 

He saw a plumber on a roof, 
Who made a mighty din : — 

" Shipmate, ahoy ! " the rover cried, 
" It makes a sailor grin 

To see j'ou copper-bottoming 
Your upper decks with tin ! " 

He met a yellow-bearded man, 

And asked about the way ; 
But not a word could he make out 

Of what the chap would say, 
Unless he meant to call him names, 

By screaming, " Nix furstay ! " 

Up spoke this jolly mariner. 
And to the man said he : — 

" I have n't sailed these thirty years 
Upon the stormy sea. 

To bear the shame of such a name 
As I have heard from thee ! 

" So take thou that ! " — and laid him 
flat; 

But soon the man arose. 
And beat the jolly mariner 

Across his jolly nose. 
Till he -was fain, from very pain, 

To yield him to the blows. 

'T was then this jolly mariner, 

A wretched jolly tar, 
Wished he was in a jolly-boat 

Upon the sea afar, 
Or riding fast, before the blast, 

Upon a single spar ! 

'T was then this jolly mariner 
Eetuxned unto his ship, 



52 



TOM BROWN'S DAY IN GOTHAM. 



And told unto the wondering crew 

The story of his trip, 
With many oaths and curses, too, 

Upon his wicked lip ! 

As hoping — so this mariner 
In fearful words harangued — 

His timbers might be shivered, and 
His le'ward scuppers daiiged, 

(A double curse, and vastly worse 
Than being shot or hanged ! ) 

If ever he — and here again 
A dreadful oath he swore — 

If ever he, except at sea, 
Spoke any stranger more. 

Or like a son of — something — went 
A-cruising on the shore ! 



TOM 



BROWN'S DAY 
GOTHAM. 



IN 



" Qui mores liominum multorum Tidit et wr- 
bein.^' 

I 'll tell you a story of Thomas 
Brown, — 

I don't mean the poet of Shropshire 
town ; 

Nor the Scotch Professor of wide re- 
nown ; 

But " Honest Tom Brown " ; so called, 
no doubt, 
Because with the same 
Identical name, 

A good many fellows were roving about 

Of whom the sheriff might prudently 
swear 

That " honest " with them was a non-est 
affair ! 

Now Tom was a Yankee of wealth and 

worth, 
Who lived and throve by tilling the 

earth ; 
For Tom had wrought 
As a farmer ought. 
Who, doomed to toil by original sinning, 
Began — like Adam — at the hegin- 

ning. 
He ploughed, he harrowed, and he 

sowed ; 
He drilled, he planted, and he hoed ; 
He dug and delved, and reaped and 

mowed. 
(I wish I could — but I can't — tell now 
Whether he used a subsoil-plough ; 



Or whether, in sooth, he had ever seen 
A regular reaping and raking machine.) 

He took most pains 

With the nobler grains 
Of higher value, and finer tissues, 

Which, possibly, one 

Inclined to a pun. 
Would call — like Harper — his " cereal 

issues ! " 
With wheat his lands were all ablaze ; 
'T was amazing to look at his fields of 
maize ; 

And there were places 

That showed rye-i&c&s 
As pleasant to see as so many Graces. 

And as for hops. 

His annual crops 
(So very extensive that, on my soul. 
They fairly reached from pole to 

pole ! ) 
Would beat the guess of any old fogie, 
Or — the longest season at Saratoga ! 
Whatever seed did. most abound. 
In the grand result that Autumn found, 

It was his plan. 

Though a moderate man. 
To be early running it into the ground; 

That is to say. 

In another way : — 
Whether the seed was harley or hay, 
Large or little, or green or gray, — 
Provided only it promised to " pa)'," — 
He never chose to labor in vain 
By stupidly going against the grain, 
But hastened away, without stay or 

stop, 
And carefully put it into his crop. 

And he raised tomatoes 

And lots of potatoes. 
More sorts, in sooth, than I could tell ; 
Turnips, that always turned up well ; 
Celery, all that he could sell ; 
Grapes by the bushel, sour and sweet ; 
Beets, that certainly could n't be beat ; 
Cabbage — like some sartorial mound ; 
Vines, that fairly cMCumbered the 

ground ; 
Some pumpkins — more than he could 

house, and 
Ten thousand pears; (that's twenty 

thousand !) 
Fruit of all kinds and propagations, 
Baldwins, Pippins, and Carnations, 
And apples of other appellations. 
To snm it all up in the briefest space, 
As you may suppose, Brown flourished 
apace. 



TOM BROWN'S DAY IN GOTHAM. 



53 



Just because he proceeded, I venture to 
say, 

In the nulla-retrorsum vestigi-ous way ; 

That is — if you 're not University- 
bred — 

He took Crocket's advice about going 
ahead. 

At all the State Eairs he held a fair sta- 
tion, 

Kaised horses and cows and his own 
reputation ; 

Made butter and money ; took a Jus- 
tice's niche ; 

Grew wheat, wool, and hemp ; corn, cat- 
tle, and — rich ! 

But who would be always a country- 
clown ? 
And so Tom Brown 
Sat himself down 

And, knitting his brow in a studious 
frown. 
He said, says he : — 
It 's plain to see, 

And I think Mrs. B. will be apt to 
agree 

(If she don't, it 's much the same to 
me), 
That I, Tom Beowk, 
Should go to town ! 

But then, says he, what town shall it 
bel 

Boston-town is consid'rably nearer, 

And York is farther, and so will be 
dearer, 

But then, of course, the sights will be 
queerer ; 

Besides, I 'm told, you 're surely a lost 
'un, 

If you once get astray in the streets of 
Boston. 
York is right-angled ; 
And Boston, right-tangled ; 

And both, I 've no doubt, are uncommon 
new-fangled. 

Ah ! — the " Smiths," I remember, be- 
long to York 

('T was ten years ago I sold them ray 
pork), 

Good, honest traders — I 'd like to know 
them — 

And so — 't is settled — I '11 go to 
Gotham ! 

And so Tom Brown 

Sat himself down, 
"With many a smile and never a fro^v^l, 
And rode, by raQ, to that notable 
town 



Which I reall}'^ think well worthy of 
mention 

As being America's greatest invention ! 

Indeed, I '11 be bound that if Nature and 
Art 

(Though the former, being older, has 
gotten the start). 

In some new Crystal Palace of suitable 
size 

Should show their chefs-d'oeuvre, and con- 
tend for the prize 

The latter would prove, when it came 
to the scratch, 

-Whate'er you may think, no contempti- 
ble match ; 

For should old Mrs. Nature endeavor to 
stagger her 

By presenting, at last, her majestic Ni- 
agara, 

Miss Art would produce an equivalent 
work 

In her great, overwhelming, unfinished 
New York ! 

And now Mr. Brown 
Was fairly in town. 

In that part of the city they used to call 
" down," 

Not far from the spot of ancient renown 
As being the scene 
Of the Bowling Green, 

A fountain that looked like a huge 
tureen 

Piled up with rocks, and a squirt be- 
tween ; 

But the " Bowling " now has gone where 
they tally ^ 

" The Fall of the Ten," in a neighbor- 
ing alley ; 

And as to the " Green " — why, that 
you will find 

Whenever you see the " invisible " 
kind! — 

And he stopped at an Inn that's known 
very well, 

" Delmonico's " once — now " Steven's 
Hotel"; 

(And, to venture a pun which I think 
rather witty. 

There 's no better Inn in this Inn-famous 
city !) 

And Mr. Brown 
Strolled up town. 
And I 'm going to write his travels 

down ; 
But if you suppose Tom Brown will dis- 
close 



54 



TOM BROWN'S DAY IN GOTHAM. 



The usual sins and follies of those 
Who leave rural regions to see city- 
shows, — 
You could n't Avell make 
A greater mistake ; 
Tor Brown was a man of excellent 

sense ; 
Could see very well through a hole in a 

fence, 
And was honest and plain, without sham 

or pretence ; 
Of sharp city-learning he could n't have 

boasted, 
But he was n't the chap to be easily 

roasted. 
And here let me say, 
In a very dogmatic, oracular way 
(And I '11 prove it, before I have done 

with my lay), 
Not only that honesty 's likely to " pay," 
But that one must be, as a general rule, 
At least half a knave to be wholly a 

fool! 

Of pocketbook-dropping Tom never had 

heard 
(Or at least if he had, he 'd forgotten 

the word), 
And now when, at length, the occasion 

occurred. 
For that sort of chaff he was n't the 

bird. 
The gentleman argued with eloquent 

force, 
And begged him to pocket the money, 

of course ; 
But Brown, without thinking at all what 

he said, 
Popped out the first thing that entered 

his head 
(Which chanced to be wondrously fitting 

and true), 
"No, no, my dear Sir, I '11 be burnt if I 

do!" 
Two lively young fellows, of elegant 

mien, 
Amused him awhile with a pretty ma- 
chine, — 
An ivory ball, which he never had seen. 
But though the unsuspecting sti-anger 
In the "patent safe" saw no patent 

danger. 
He easily dodged the nefarious net, 
Because " he was n't accustomed to 

bet." 

Ah ! here, I wot. 
Is exactly the spot 



To make a small fortune as easy as 
not! 

That man with the watch — what lungs 
he has got I 

It 's " Going — the best of that elegant 
lot — 

To close a concern, at a desperate rate, 

Tlie jeweler ruined as certain as fate ! 

A capital watch ! — you may see by the 
weight — 

Worth one hundred dollars as easy as 
eight — 

Or half of that sum to melt down into 
plate — 

(Brown doesn't know "Peter" from 
Peter the Great) 
But then I can't dwell, 
I 'm ordered to sell. 

And mus 'n't stand weeping — just look 
at the shell — 

I warrant the ticker to operate well — 

Nine dollars ! — it 's hard to he selling 
it under 

A couple of fifties — it 's cruel, hy Thun- 
der ! 

Ten dollars ! — I 'm offered — the man 
who secures 

This splendid — ten dollars ! — say 
twelve, and it 's yours ! " 

"Don't want it" quoth Brown — "I 
don't wish to buy ; 

Fifty dollars, I'm sure, one couldn't 
call high — 

But to see the man ruined! — Dear Sir, 
I declare — 

Between two or three bidders, it does n't 
seem fair ; 

To knock it off now were surely a sin ; 

Just wait, my dear Sir, till the people 
come in ! 

Allow me to say, you disgrace your po- 
sition 

As Sheriff — consid'ring the debtor's 
condition — 

To sell such a watch without more com- 
petition ! " 
And here Mr. Brown 
Gave a very black frown, 

Stepped leisurely out, and walked far- 
ther up town. 

To see hira stray along Broadway 

In the afternoon of a summer's day. 

And note what he chanced to see and 
say; 
And what people he meets 
In the narrower streets. 

Were a pregnant theme for a longer 
lay. 



YE TAILYOR-MAN. 



55 



How he marveled at those geological 
chaps 

Who go poking about in crannies and 
gaps, 

Those curious people in tattered breeches 

The rag-wearing, rag-picliing sons of — 
ditches, 

Who iind in the very nastiest niches 

A " decent living," and sometimes 
riches ; 

How he thought city prices exceedingly 
queer. 

The 'busses too cheap, and the hacks 
too dear ; 

How he stuck in the mud, and got lost 
in the question — 

A problem too hard for his mental di- 
gestion — 

Why — in cleaning the city, the city 
employs 

Such a very small corps of such very 
small boys ; 

How he judges by dress, and according- 
ly makes, 

By mixing up classes, the drollest mis- 
takes. 

How — as if simple vanity ever were 
vicious, 

Or women of merit could be meretri- 
cious, — 

He imagines the dashing Fifth-Avenue 
dames 

The same as the girls with unspeakable 
names ! 

An exceedingly natural blunder in 
sooth. 

But, I 'm happy to say, very far from 
the truth; 

For e'en at the worst, whate'er you sup- 
pose, 

The one sort of ladies can choose their 
beaux. 

While, as to the other — but every one 
knows 

What — if 't were a secret — I would n't 
disclose. 

And Mr. Brown 
Returned from town, 
With a bran new hat, and a muslin 

gown. 
And he told the tale, when the sun was 

down, 
How he spent his eagles, and saved his 

crown ; 
How he showed his pluck by resisting 

the claim 



Of an impudent fellow who asked his 
name ; 

But paid — as a gentleman ever is will- 
ing— 

At the old Park-Gate, the regular shil- 
lino- ! 



YE TAILYOR-MAN. 

A CONTEMPLATIVE BALLAD. 

Right jollie is ye tailyor-man. 

As annie man may be ; 
And all ye daye upon ye benche 

He worketh merrilie. 

And oft ye while in pleasante wise 

He coileth up his lymbes, 
He singeth songs ye like whereof 

Are not in Watts his hymns. 

And yet he toileth all ye while 

His merrie catches rolle ; 
As true unto ye needle as 

Ye needle to ye pole. 

What cares ye valiant tailyor-man 
For all ye cowarde feares 1 

Against ye scissors of ye Fates 
He pointes his mightie shears. 

He heedeth not ye anciente jests 

That witlesse sinners use ; 
What feareth ye bolde tailyor-man 

Ye hissinge of a goose ? 

He pulleth at ye busie threade, 

To feede his loviuge wife 
And eke his childe ; for unto them 

It is ye threade of life. 

He cutteth well ye riche man's coate, 
And with unseemlie pride 

He sees ye little waiscoate in 
Ye cabbage bye his side. 

Meanwhile ye tailyor-man his wife. 

To labor nothinge loth, 
Sits bye with readie hande to baste 

Ye urchin and ye cloth. 

Full happie is ye tailyor-man, 

Yet is he often tried, 
Lest he, from fuUnesse of ye dimes, 

Wax wanton in his pride. 



56 



THE DEVIL OF- NAMES. 



Full happie is ye tailyor-man, 

And yet he hath a foe, 
A cunninge enemie that none 

So well as tailyors knowe. 

It is ye slipperie customer 
Who goes his wicked wayes. 

And weares ye tailyor-man his coate 
But never, never payes ! 



THE DEVIL OF NAMES. 

A LEGEND. 

At an old-fashioned inn, with a pen- 
dulous sign, 

Once graced with the head of the king 
of the kine. 

But innocent now of the slightest " de- 
sign," 

Save calling low people to spurious 
wine, — 

While the villagers, drinking, and play- 
ing " all fours," 

And cracking small jokes, with vocifer- 
ous roars, 

Were talking of horses, and hunting, 
and — scores 

Of similar topics a bar-room adores, 

But which rigid morality greatly de- 
plores. 

Till as they grew high in their bacchanal 
revels. 

They fell to discoursing of witches and 
devils, — 
A neat single rap. 
Just the ghost of a tap. 

That would scarcely have wakened a 
flea from his nap, 

Not at all iu its sound like your " Roch- 
ester Knocking " 

(Where asses in herds are diurnally 
flocking), 

But twice as mysterious, and vastly 
more shocking, 

Was heard at the door by the people 
within, 

Who stopped in a moment their clam- 
orous din, 

And ceased in a trice from their jokes 
and their gin; 
When who should appear 

But an odd-looking stranger somewhat 
" in the sere " 

(He seemed at the least in his sixtieth 
year). 



And he limped in a manner exceedingly 
queer. 

Wore breeches uncommonly wide in the 
rear. 

And his nose was turned up Avith a 
comical sneer. 

And he had in his eye a most villainous 
leer. 

Quite enough to make any one tremble 
with fear ! 
Whence he came. 
And what was his name, 

And what his purpose iu venturing out, 

And whether his lameness was " gam- 
mon " or gout, 

Or merely fatigue from strolling about. 

Were questions involved in a great deal 
of doubt, — 
When, taking a chair, 
With a sociable air, 

Like that which your " Uncle " 's ac- 
customed to wear, 

Or a broker determined to sell you a 
share 

In his splendid " New England Gold- 
mining " affair. 

He opened his mouth and went on to 
declare 

That he was a devil ! — " The devil you 
are ! " 

Cried one of the guests assembled 
tliere. 

With a sudden start, and a frightened 
stare ! 

" Nay, don't be alarmed," the stranger 
exclaims, 

"At the name of the devil, — I'm the 
Devil of Names ! 
You '11 wonder why 
Such a devil as I, 

Who ought, you would say, to be devil- 
ish shy. 

Should venture in here with never a 
doubt, 

And let the best of his secrets out; 
But mind you, my boys, 
It 's one of the joys 

Of the cuuningest woman and craftiest 
man. 

To run as quickly as ever they can. 

And put a confidante under ban 

Not to publish their favorite plan ! 
And even the de'il 
Will sometimes feel 

A little of that remarkable zeal. 

And (when it's safe) delights to tell 

The very deepest arcana of — well ; — 

Besides, my favor this company wins, 



THE DEVIL OF NAMES. 



57 



For I value next to capital sins 

Those out-and-outers who revel in 

inns ! 
So, not to delay, 
I 'm going to say. 
In the very fullest and frankest way, 
All about my honors and claims, 
Projects and plans, and objects and 

aims, 
And why I 'm called ' The Devil of 

Names ! ' 
I cheat by false graces, 
And duplicate faces, 
And treacherous praises. 
And by hiding bad things under plausi- 
ble phrases ! 
I '11 give you a sample. 
By way of example : 
Here 's a bottle before me, will suit to 

aT 
For a nice illustration : this liquor, 

d'ye see, 
Is the water of death, though topers 

agree 
To think it, and drink it, as pure ' eau 

de vie ; ' 
I know what it is, — that 's sufficient for 

me ! 
For the blackest of sins, and crimes, and 

shames, 
I find soft words and innocent names. 
The Hells devoted to Satan's games 
I christen ' Saloons ' and ' Halls,' and 

then. 
By another contrivance of mine again. 
They 're only haunted by ' sporting 

men,' — 
A phrase which many a gamester 

begs, 
In spite of the saw that ' eggs is eggs,' 
To whiten his nigritudinous legs ! 

" To debauchees I graciously grant 
The favor to be ' a little gallant,' 
And soften vicious vagrancy down. 
By civilly speaking of ' men about 

town ; ' 
There 's cheating and lying 
In selling and buying, 
And all sorts of frauds and dishonest 

exactions 
I 've brought to the smallest of moral 

infractions, 
Merely by naming them ' business 

transactions ' ! 
There 's swindling, now, is vastly more 

fine 



As ' Banking,' — a lucky invention of 

mine, 
Worth ten in the old diabolical line ! 

" In lesser matters it 's all the same, 
I gain the thing by yielding the name ; 
It 's really quite the broadest of jokes, 
But, on my honor, there 's plenty of 

folks 
So uncommonly fond of verbal cloaks, 
They can't enjoy the dinners they 

eat. 
Court the ' muse of the twinkling 

feet,' 
Laugh or sing, or do anything meet 
For Christian people, without a cheat 
To make their happiness quite com- 
plete ! 
The Boston saints 
Are fond of these feints ; 
A theatre rouses the loudest complaints, 
Till it 's thoroughly purged from pesti- 
lent taints, 
By the charm of a name and a pious Te 

Deum, — 
Yet they patronize actors, and hand- 
somely fee 'em ! 
Keep (shade of 'the Howards !') a gay 

' Athenaeum,' 
And have, above all, a harmless * Mu- 
seum,' 
Where folks who love plays may relig- 
iously see 'em 1 

"But leaving a trifle which cost me 
more trouble 
By far than the worth of so flimsy a 

bubble, 
I come to a matter which really claims 
The studious care of the Devil of Names. 
There 's ' Charity ' now ' ' — 

'But the lecture was done. 
Like old Goody Morey's when scarcely 

begun ; 
The devil's discourse by its serious 

teaching 
Had set 'em a-snoring, like regular 

preaching ! 
One look of disdain on the sleepers he 

threw, 
As in bitter contempt of the slumbering 

crew, 
And the devil had vanished without 

more ado, — 
A trick, I suspect, that he seldom plays 

you! 



58 



THE STAMMERING WIFE. 



YE PEDAGOGUE: 



A BALLAD. 



RiGHTE learned is ye Pedagogue, 
Fulle apt to reade and spelle. 

And eke to teache ye parts of speeche, 
And strap ye urchins welle. 



For as 't is meete to soake ye feete, 
Ye ailinge heade to mende, 

Ye youuker's pate to stimulate, 
He beats ye other ende ! 

III. 

Eighte lordlie is ye Pedagogue 

As any turbaned Turke ; 
For welle to rule ye District Schoole, 

It is no idle worke. 



For oft Rebellion lurketh there 
In breaste of secrete foes, 

Of malice fulle, in waite to puUe 
Ye Pedagogue his nose ! 



Sometimes he heares, with trembling 
feares. 

Of ye uiigodlie rogue 
On mischieffe bent, with felle intent 

To licke ye Pedagogue ! 



And if ye Pedagogue be smalle, 

When to ye battell led. 
In such a plighte, God sende him 
mighte 

To breake ye rogue his heade ! 



Daye after daye, for little paye. 

He teacheth what he can. 
And bears ye yoke, to please ye folke, 

And ye Committee-man. 



Ah ! many crosses hath he borne. 

And many trials founde, 
Ye while he trudged ye district through. 

And boarded rounde and rounde ! 



Ah ! many a steake hath he devoured, 
That, by ye taste and sighte. 



Was in disdaine, 't was very plaine, 
Of Daye his patent righte ! 



Fulle solemn is ye Pedagogue, 
Amonge ye noisy churls, 

Yet other while he hath a smile 
To give ye handsome girls ; 



And one, — ye fayrest mayde of 
all,— _ 
To cheere his wayninge life. 
Shall be, when Springe ye ilowers shall 
bringe, 
Ye Pedagogue his wife ! 



THE STAMMERING WIFE. 



When, deeply in love with Miss Emily 

Cline, 
I vowed, if the maiden would only be 

mine, 
I would always endeavor to please 

her. 
She blushed her consent, though the 

stuttering lass 
Said never a word, except " You're an 

ass — 
An ass — an ass-iduous teaser ! " 



But when we were married I found to 

my ruth 
The stammering lady had spoken the 

truth, 
For often, in obvious dudgeon. 
She 'd say, — if I ventured to give her 

a jog 
In the way of reproof, — " You 're a dog 

— you 're a dog — 
A dog — a dog-matic curmudgeon ! " 



And once when I said, " We can hardly 
afford 

This extravagant style, with our mod- 
erate hoard," 
And hinted we ought to be wiser, 

She looked, I assure you, exceedingly 
bine, 

And fretfully cried, " You 're a ju — 
you 're a ju — 
A very ju-dicious adviser ! " 



A RHYMED EPISTLE. 



59 



Again, when it happened that, wishing 
to shirk 

Some rather unpleasant and arduous 
work, 
I begged her to go to a neighbor ; 

She wanted to know why I made such a 
fuss, 

And saucily said, " You 're a cus — cus 
— cus — 
You were always ac-cus-tomed to la- 
bor ! " 



Out of temper at last with the insolent 

dame. 
And feeling that Madam was greatly to 

blame 
To scold me instead of caressing, 
I mimicked her speech — like a churl as 

I am — 
And angrily said, " You 're a dam — 

dam — dam — 
A dam-age instead of a blessing ! " 



A KHYMED EPISTLE. 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKER- 
BOCKER MAGAZINE. 

Dear Knick : While myself and my 
spouse 
Sat tea-ing last evening, and chat- 
ting, 
And, mindful of conjugal vows, 

Were nicely agreed in combating, 
It chanced that myself and my wife, 
('T was Madam occasioned the poth- 
er!) 
Falling suddenly into a strife, 

Came near falling out with each other ! 

In a brisk, miscellaneous chat, 

Quite in tune with the chime of the 
tea-things. 
We jvere talldng of this and of that, 

Just as each of us happened to see 
things, 
When somehow or other it chanced 

(I don't quite remember the cue). 
That as talking and tea-ing advanced. 

We found we were talking of you ! 

I think — but perhaps I am wrong. 
Such a subtle old chap is Suggestion, 



As he forces each topic along 

By the trick of the " previous ques- 
tion " — 
Some remarks on a bacchanal revel 

Suggested that horrible elf 
With the hoof and the horns, — and the 
Devil, 
Excuse me, suggested yourself ! 

" Ah ! Knick, to be sure ; by the way," 

Quoth Madam, " what sort of a man 
Do you take him to be ! — nay, but stay, 

And let me guess him out if I can. 
He's young, and quite handsome, no 
doubt ; 

Eather slender, and not over-tall ; 
And he loves a snug little turn- out, 

And turns out ' quite a love ' at a 
ball ! " 

And then she went on to portray 

Such a very delightful ideal. 
That a sensible stranger would say 

It really could n't be real. 
" And his wife, what a lady must she be ? 

(Knick 's married, that / know, and 
you know :) 
You '11 find her a delicate Hebe, 

And not your magnificent Juno ! " 

Now I am a man, you must learn. 

Less famous for beauty than strength, 
And, for aught I could ever discern. 

Of rather superfluous length. ' 
In truth 't is but seldom one meets 

Such a Titan in human abodes. 
And vv^hen I stalk over the streets, 

I 'm a perfect Colossus of roads ! 

So I frowned like a tragedy-Roman, 

For in painting the beautiful elf 
As the form of your lady, the woman 

Took care to be drawing herself ; 
While, mark you, the picture she drew 

So deuced con amore and free. 
That fanciful likeness of you, 

Was by no means a portrait of me ! 

" How lucky for ladies," I hinted, 

" That in our republican land 
They may prattle, without being 
stinted, 

Of matters they don't understand ; 
I'll show you, dear Madam, that 
' Knick' 

Is n't dapper nor daintily slim. 
But a gentleman decently thick, 

With a manly extension of limb. 



60 



TOWN AND COUNTRY. 



"And as to his youth, — talk of flow- 
ers 
Blooming gayly in frosty December ! 
I'll warrant his juvenile hours 

Are things he can scarcely remem- 
ber! 
Here, Madam, quite plain to be seen, 
Is the chap you would choose for a 
lover ! " 
And, producing your own Magazine, 
I pointed elate to the cover ! 

" You see, ma'am, 'tis just as I said, 

His locks are as gray as a rat ; 
Here, look at the crown of his head, 

'T is bald as the crown of my hat ! " 
" Nay, my dear," interrupted my wife, 

Who began to be casting about 
To get the last word in the strife, 

" 'T is his grandfather's picture, no 
doubt ! " 



TOWN AND COUNTRY. 

AN ECLOGUE. 
CLOVEETOP. 

I 'vE thought, ray Cousin, it 's extremely 
queer 

That you, who love to spend your Au- 
gust here. 

Don't bring, at once, your wife and chil- 
dren down. 

And quit, for good, the noisy, dusty 
town. 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

Ah ! simple swain, this sort of life may 

do 
For such a verdant Clovertop as you, 
Content to vegetate in summer air, 
And hibernate in winter — like a bear ! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here we have butter pure as virgin 
gold, 

And milk from cows that can a tail un- 
fold 

With bovine pride ; and new-laid eggs, 
whose praise 

Is sung by pullets with their morning 
lays ; 

Trout from the brook ; good water from 
the well ; 

And other blessings more than I can 
tell ! 



SHILLINGSIDE. 

There, simple rustic, we have nightly 
plays, 

And operatic music, — charming ways 

Of spending time and money, — lots of 
fun; 

The Central Park — whene'er they get 
it done ; 

Barnum's Museum, full of things er- 
ratic, 

Terrene, amphibious, airy, and aquatic ! 

CLOVEETOP. 

Hei-e we have rosy, radiant, romping 

girls. 
With lips of rubies, and with teeth of 

pearls ; 
I dare not mention half their witching 

charms ; 
But, ah ! the roundness of their milky 

arms, 
And, oh ! what polished shoulders they 

display, 
Bending o'er tubs upon a washing day ! 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There we have ladies most superbly 
made 

(By fine artistes, who understand their 
trade), 

Who dance the German, flirt a graceful 
fan. 

And speak such French as no Parisian 
can ; 

Who sing much louder than your coun- 
try thrushes, 

And wear (thank Phalon!) far more 
brilliant blushes ! 

CLOVEETOP. 

Here, boastful Shilling, we have flowery 
walks. 

Where you may stroll, and hold delight- 
ful talks, 

(No saucy placard frowning as you pass, 

" Ten dollars' fine for walking on the 
grass ! ") 

Dim-lighted groves, where love's deli- 
cious words 

Are breathed to music of melodious 
birds. 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There, silly Clover, dashing belles we 

meet. 
Sweeping with silken robes the dusty 

street ; 



THE FAMILY MAN. 



61 



May gaze into their faces as they pass, 
Beneath the rays of dimly burniDg gas, 
Or, staudiug at a crossing when it rains. 
May see some pretty ankles for our 
pains. 

CLOVEETOP. 

Here you may angle for the speckled 

trout, 
Play him awhile, with gentle hand, 

about, 
Then, like a sportsman, pull the fellow 

out ! 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There, too, is fishing quite as good, I 

ween. 
Where careless, gaping gudgeons oft are 

seen. 
Rich as yon pasture, and almost as 

green ! 

CLOVBKTOP. 

Here you may see the meadow's grassy 

plain. 
Ripe, luscious fruits, and shocks of 

golden grain ; 
And view, luxuriant in a hundred fields, 
The gorgeous wealth that bounteous 

Nature yields ! 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There you may see Trade's wondrous 

strength and pride, 
Where merchant-navies throng on every 

side, 
And view, collected in Columbia's mart, 
Alike the wealth of Nature and of Art ! 

CLOVEETOP. 

Cease, clamorous cit ! I love these quiet 

nooks. 
Where one may sleep, or dawdle over 

books, 
Or, if he wish of gentle love to dream, 
May sit and muse by yonder babbling 

stream — 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

Dry up your babbling stream ! my Clo- 
vertop — 

You 're getting garrulous ; it 's time to 
stop. 

I love the city, and the city's smoke ; 

The smell of gas ; the dust of coal and 
coke ; 

The sound of bells ; the tramp of hur- 
rying feet ; 



The sight of pigs and Paphians in the 

street ; 
The jostling crowd ; the never-ceasing 

noise 
Of rattling coaches, and vociferous boys ; 
The cry of " Pire ! " and the exciting 

scene 
Of heroes running with their mad " mer- 

sheen ; " 
Nay, now I think that I could even 

stand 
The direful din of Barnum's brazen 

band. 
So much I long to see the town again ! 
Good-by ! I 'm going by the evening 

train ! 
Don't fail to call whene'er you come to 

town. 
We '11 do the city, boy, and do it brown ; 
I 've really had a pleasant visit here. 
And mean to come again another year. 



THE FAMILY MAN. 

I ONCE was a jolly young beau, 
And knew how to pick up a fan. 

But I 've done with all that, you must 
know, 
Por now I 'm a family man ! 

When a partner I ventured to take, 
The ladies all favored the plan ; 

They vowed I was certain to make 
" Such an excellent family man J " 

If I travel by land or by water, 

I have charge of some Susan or Ann ; 

Mrs. Brown is so sure that her daughter 
Is safe with a family man ! 

The trunks and the bandboxes round 
'em 
With something like horror I scan. 
But though I may mutter, " Confound 
'em ! " 
I smile — like a family man ! 

I once was as gay as a templar. 
But levity 's now under ban ; 

Young people must have an exemplar. 
And I am a family man ! 

The club-men I meet in the city 
All treat me as well as they can ; 

And only exclaim, " What a pity 
Poor Tom is a family man ! " 



02 



NE CREDE COLORI. 



I own I am getting: quite pensive ; 

Ten children, from David to Dan, 
Is a family rather extensive ; 

But then — I 'm a family man ! 



THE SNAKE IN THE GLASS. 

A HOMILT. 

Come listen awhile to me, my lad ; 
Come listen to me for a spell ; 

Let that terrible drum 

For a moment be dumb, 
For your uncle is going to tell 

What befell 
A youth who loved liquor too well. 

A clever young man was he, my lad; 
And with beauty uncommonly blest, 

Ere, with brandy and wine, 

He began to decline. 
And behaved like a person possessed ; 

I protest 
The temperance plan is the best. 

One evening he went to a tavern, my lad ; 
He went to a tavern one night, 

And drinking too much 

Rum, brandy, and such, 
The chap got exceedingly " tight ; " 

And was quite 
What your aunt would entitle a fright. 

The fellow fell into a snooze, my lad ; 
'T is a horrible slumber he takes ; 

He trembles Avith fear, 

And acts very queer ; 
My eyes ! how he shivers and shakes 

When he wakes, 
And raves about horrid great snakes ! 

'T is a warning to you and to me, my lad ; 
A particular caution to all, — 

Though no one can see 

The vipers but he, — 
To hear the poor lunatic bawl : — 

" How they crawl ! — 
All over the floor and the wall ! " 

Next morning he took to his bed, my lad ; 
Next morning he took to his bed ; 

And he never got up 

To dine or to sup. 
Though properly physicked and bled; 

And I read. 
Next day, the poor fellow was dead ! 



You 've heard of the snake in the grass, 

my lad ; 
Of the viper concealed in the grass; 
But now, you must know, 
Man's deadliest foe 
Is a snake of a different class ; 

Alas ! — 
'T is the viper that lurks in the glass ! 

A warning to you and to me, my lad ; 
A very imperative call : 

Of liquor keep clear ; 

Don't drink even beer, 
If you 'd shim all occasion to fall ; 

If at all. 
Pray take it uncommonly small. 

And if you are partial to snakes, my lad 
(A passion I think rather low). 

Don't enter, to see 'em, 

The Devil's Museum! — 
'T is very much better to go 

(That's so!) 
And visit a regular shoAV ! 



NE CREDE COLORI: 



OK, TRUST NOT TO APPEARANCES. 

The musty old maxim is wise. 
Although with antiquity hoary; 

What an excellent homily lies 
In the motto, Ne crede colori ! 

A blustering minion of Mars . 

Is vaunting his battles so gory; 
You see some equivocal scars, 

And mutter, Ne crede colori ! 

A fellow solicits your tin 
By telling a runaway story ; 

You look at his ebony skin. 
And think of, Ne crede colori! 

You gaze upon beauty that vies 
With the rose and the lily in glory, 

But certain "inscrutable Ax&s " 
Remind you, Ne crede colori ! 

There 's possibly health in the flush 
That rivals the red of Aurora ; 

But brandy-aud-water can blush, 
And whisper, Ne crede colori! 

My story is present!}' done. 
Like the ballad of good Mother Moray : 



CLOE TO CLARA. 



63 



But all imposition to shun, 
Remember, Ne crede colori '. 



CLAEA TO CLOE. 

AN EPISTLE FROM A CITY LADY TO A 
COUNTRY COUSIN. 

Deae Clob, — I *m deeply your debtor 
(Though the mail was uncommonly 

slow) 
For the very agreeable letter 

You wrote me a fortnight ago. 
I know you are eagerly waiting 

For all that I promised to write, 
But my pen is tinequal to stating 

One half that my heart would indite. 

The weather is terribly torrid ; 

And writing 's a serious task ; 
The new style of bonnet is horrid ; 

And so is the new-fashioned basque ; 
The former — but language -would fail 

Were its epithets doubly as strong — 
The latter is worn with a tail 

Very ugly and tediously long ! 

And then as to crinoline — Gracious ! 

If you only could see Cousin Ruth ! 
The pictures, for once, are veracious, 

And editors utter the truth ! 
I know you will think it a pity ; 

And every one makes such a sneer 
of it; 
But there is n't a saint in the city 

Whose skirts are entirely clear of it ! 

And then what a fortune of stuff 

To cover the skeleton over ! — 
Charles says the idea is enough 

To frighten a sensible lover ; 
And, pretending that ive are to blame 

For every financial declension, 
Swears husbands must soon do the same, 

If wives have another " extension" ! 

The town is exceedingly dull. 

And so is the latest new farce ; 
The parks are uncommonly full, 

But beaux are deplorably scarce ; 
They 're gone to the " Springs " and the 
"Falls," 

To exhibit their greyhounds and 
graces, 
And recruit at — what Frederick calls — 

The Brandy-and-Watering Places ! 



Since my former epistle, which car- 
ried 
The news of that curious plot, — 
Of Miss S. who ran off — and was mar- 
ried ; 
Of Miss B. who ran off — and, was 
not, — 
There is n't a whisper of scandal 

To keep gentle ladies in humor. 
And Gossip, the pleasant old Vandal, 
Is dying for want of a rumor ! 

Clara. 

P. S. — But was n't it funny ? — 

Mrs. Jones, at a party last week 
(The lady so proud of her money. 
Of whom you have oft heard me 
speak). 
Appeared so delightfully stupid, 

When she spoke, through the squeak 
of her phthisic. 
Of the statue of Psyche and Cupid 
As " the statute of Cuppid and Phys- 
ic " ! c: 



CLOE TO CLARA. 

A SARATOGA LETTER. 

Dear Clara, — I wish you were 
here : 

The prettiest spot upon earth ! 
With everything charming, my dear, — 

Beaux, badinage, music, and mirtla ! 
Such rows of magnificent trees, 

Overhanging such beautiful walks, 
Where lovers may stroll, if they please, 

And indulge in the sweetest of talks ! 

We go every morning, like geese. 

To drink at the favorite Spring ; 
Six tumblers of water apiece 

Is simply the regular thing ; 
For such is its wonderful virtue. 

Though rather unpleasant at first, 
No quantity ever can hurt you. 

Unless you should happen to burst ! 

And then, what a gossiping siglit ! 

What talk about William and Harry; 
How Julia was spending last night ; 

And whif Miss Morton should marry ! 
Dear Clara, I've happened to see 

Full many a tea-table slaughter; 
But, really, scandal with tea 

Is nothing to scandal with water ! 



64 



THE GREAT MAGICIAN. 



Apropos of the Spring — have you heard 

The quiz of a gentleman here 
On a pompous M. C. who averred 

That the name was remarkably queer 1 
" The Spring — to keep it from fail- 
ing— 

With wood is encompassed about. 
And derives, from its permanent railing, 

The title of ' Congress/ no doubt ! " 

'T is pleasant to guess at the reason. 

The genuine motive, which brings 
Such all-sorts of folks, in the season, 

To stop a few days at the Springs. 
Some come to partake of the waters 

(The sensible, old-fashioned elves) ; 
Some come to dispose of their daugh- 
ters. 

And some to dispose of — themselves ! 

Some come to exhibit their faces 

To new and admiring beholders ; 
Some come to exhibit their graces, 

And some to exhibit their shoulders ; 
Some come to make people stare 

At the elegant dresses they 've got ; 
Some to show what a lady may wear, 

And some — what a lady should not ! 

Some come to squander their treasure, 

And some their funds to improve ; 
And some for mere love of pleasure. 

And some for the pleasure of love ; 
And some to escape from the old, 

And some to see what is new ; 
But most — it is plain to be told — 

Come here — because other follcs do ! 

And that, I suppose, is the reason 

Why 1 am enjoying, to-day, 
What 's called " the height — of the sea- 
son" 

In rather the loftiest way. 
Good-by — for now I must stop — 

To Charley's command I resign, — 
So I 'm his for the regular hop, 

But ever most tenderly thine, 

Cloe. 



THE GEEAT MAGICIAN. 

Once, when a lad, it was my hap 

To gain my mother's kind permission 

To go and see a foreign chap 
Who called himself "The Great Ma- 
gician " ; 



I recollect his wondrous skill 
In divers mystic conjurations, 

And how the fellow wrought at will 
The most prodigious transformations. 

I recollect the nervous man 

Within whose hat the great deceiver 
Broke eggs, as in a frying-pan. 

And took 'em, smoking, from the 
beaver ! 
I recollect the lady's shawl 

Which the magician rent asunder, 
And then restored ; but, best of all, 

I recollect the Ribbon- Wonder ! 

I mean, of course, the funny freak 

In which the wizard, at his pleasure, 
Spins lots of ribbons from his cheek 
(Where he had hid 'em, at his lei- 
sure). 
Yard after yard, of every hue, 
Comes blazing out, and still the fel- 
low 
Keeps spinning ribbons, red and blue, 
And black and white, and green and 
yellow ! 

I ne'er shall see another show 

To rank with the immortal "Pot- 
ter's " ; 3 
He 's dead and buried long ago. 
And others charm our sons and daugh- 
ters; 
Years — years have fled — alas ! how 
quick, 
Since I beheld the Great Magician, 
And yet I 've seen the Ribbon-Trick 
In many a curious repetition ! 

Thus, when an author I have read 
Who much amazed the world of let- 
ters 
With gems his fluent pen has shed 

(All nicely pilfered from his betters), 
Presto ! — 't is done ! — and all com- 
plete. 
As in my youth's enraptured vision, 
I 've seen again the Ribbon-Feat, 
And thought about the Great Magi- 
cian! 

So, when a sermon I have heard 
Made up of bits of borrowed learn- 
ing. 

Some cheap mosaic which has stirred 
The wonder of the undiscerning, 

Swift as a flash has memory then 
Recalled the ancient exhibition; 



THE BLARNEY STONE. 



65 



I saw the Eibbon-Trick again, 

And thought about the Great Magi- 



So when some flippant man-o'-jokes, 
Though in himself no dunce was 
duller, 
Has dazzled all the simple folks 

With brilliant jests of every color, 
I 've whispered thus (while fast and 
thick 
The changes flashed across my vis- 
ion) : — 
" How well he plays the Ribbon-Trick ! 
By Jove! he beats the Great Magi- 
cian." 



Pot- 



I ne'er shall see another show 
To rank with the immortal 
ter's " ; 
He 's dead and buried long ago, 

And others charm our sons and daugh- 
ters; 
Years — years have fled — alas ! how 
quick, 
Since I beheld the Great Magician, 
And yet I 've seen the Ribbon-Trick 
In many a curious repetition ! 



THE BLARNEY STONE. 



In Blarney Castle, on a crumbling 

tower. 
There lies a stone (above your ready 

reach). 
Which to the lips imparts, 't is said, the 

power 
Of facile falsehood, and persuasive 

speech ; 
And hence, of one who talks in such a 

tone. 
The peasants say, " He 's kissed the 

Blarney Stone ! " 



Thus, when I see some flippant tourist- 
swell 
With secrets wrested from an Em- 
peror, 
And hear him vaunt his bravery, and 
tell 
How once he snubbed a Marquis, I 
infer 

6 



The man came back — if but the truth 

were known — 
By way of Cork, and kissed the Blarney 

Stone ! 



So, when I hear a shallow dandy 
boast 
(In the long ear that marks a brother 
dunce) 

What precious favors ladies' lips have 
lost, 
To his advantage, I suspect, at once, 

The fellow 's lying ; that the dog alone 

(Enough for him !) has kissed the Blar- 
ney Stone ! 



When some fine lady, — ready to de- 
fame 
An absent beauty, with as sweet a 
grace, — 

With seeming rapture greets a hated 
name. 
And lauds her rival to her wondering 
face ; 

E'en Charity herself must freely own 

Some women, too, have kissed the Blar- 
ney Stone ! 



When sleek attorneys, whose seductive 
tongues, 
Smooth with the unction of a golden 
fee, 

"Breathe forth huge falsehoods from 
capacious lungs " * 
(The words are Juvenal's), 't is plain 
to see 

A lawyei''s genius is n't all his own ; 

The specious rogue has kissed the Blar- 
ney Stone! 



When the false pastor, from his fainting 
flock 
Withholds the Bread of Life, the gos- 
pel news. 

To give them dainty words, lest he 
should shock 
The fragile fabric of the paying 
pews, 

Who but must feel, the man, to Grace 
unknown. 

Has kissed, — not Calvary, — but the 
Blarney Stone ! 

* " Immensa cavi spirant mendaoia folles." 



66 



MO THERS-IN-LA W. 



ODE TO THE PEINCE OF 
WALES. 

INVITING HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS TO A 
COUNTKT COTTAGE. 

O PRINCE of Wales ! 

Unless my judgment fails, 

You 've found your recent travel rather 
d reary ; 

I don't expect an answer to the que- 
ry,— 
But are n't you gettmg weary 1 

Weary of Bells, and Balls, and grand 
Addresses ? 

Weary of Military and their messes 1 

Weary of adulation and caresses 1 

Weary of shouts from the admiring 
masses ? 

Weary of worship from the upper 
classes ? 

Weary of horses, may'rs, and asses ? 
Of course 't was kindly meant, — 
But don't you now repent 
Your good Mamma's consent 
That you should he, 
This side the sea, 

The "British Lion" which you repre- 
sent? 

Pray leave your city courtiers and their 
capers. 

And come to us ; we 've no pictorial pa- 
pers; 

And no Reporters to distort your nose ; 

Or mark the awkward carriage of your 
toes; 

Your style of sneezing, and such things 
as those ; 

Or, meaner still, in democratic spite. 

Measure your Royal Highness by your 
height ! 

Then come to us ! 
We 're not the sort of folk to make a 

fuss, 
E'en for the President ; but then, my 

boy. 
We plumply pi'omise you a special joy, 

To Princes rarely known, 
And one you '11 never find about a 

throne, 
To wit, the bliss of being let alone ! 
No scientific bores from Athensaeums ; 
No noisy guns, nor tedious te-deiims, 
Shall vex your Royal Highness for a 

minute i 



A glass of lemonade, with "something in 
it," 

A fragrant meerschaum, with the morn- 
ing news. 

Or sweet Virginia " fine-cut," if you 
choose, — 

These, and what else your Highness 
may demand 

Of simple luxury, shall be at hand, 

And at your royal service. Come ! 

O come where you may gain 

(What advertisers oft have sought in 
vain) 
" The comforts of a home " ! 

Come, Prince of Wales! we greatly 
need 

Your royal presence. Sir, — we do in- 
deed : 

For why? we have a pretty hamlet 
here, 

But then, you see, 't is equally as 
clear 

(Your Highness understands Shake- 
sperian hints) 

A Hamlet is n't much without a. Prince! 



MOTHERS-IN-LAW. 

If you ever should marry, said Major 
Mc Garth, 

While smoking a pipe by my bachelor- 
hearth. 

If you ever should wed, — and I would 
n't employ 

A word to prevent it, my broth of a 
boy,— 

Remember that wedlock 's a company 
where 

The parties, quite often, are more than 
a pair; 

'T is a lott'ry in which you are certain 
to draw 

A wife, and, most likely, a mother-in- 
law ! 

What the latter may be all conjecture 

defies : 
She is never a blank ; she is seldom a 

prize ; 
Sometimes she is silly; sometimes she 

is bold ; 
Sometimes — rather worse ! — she 's a 

virulent scold. 



NIL AD3IIRARL 



67 



You dreamed of an angel to gladden 
your home, 

And with her — God help you ! — a 
harpy has come ; . 

You fished for a wife without failing or 
flaw, 

And find you have netted — a mother- 
in-law ! 

" Dear Anna," she says, " as you clearly 

may see, 
Has always been used to depending on 

me ; 
Poor child! though the gentlest that 

ever was known, 
She could never be trusted a moment 

alone ; 
Such sensitive nerves, and such delicate 

lungs ! " 
Cries the stoutest of dames with the 

longest of tongues. 
" Like mother like child ; you remember 

the saw ; 
I 'm weakly myself," says your mother- 
in-law ! 

But your mother-in-law, you discover 

erelong. 
Though feeble in body, in temper is 

strong ; 
And so you surrender, — what else can 

you do ? 
She governs your wife, and your ser- 
vants, and you ; 
And calls you a savage, the coarsest of 

brutes. 
For trampling the carpet with mud on 

your boots ; 
And vows she committed a stupid "fox- 

paio " 
In rashly becoming your mother-in-law ! 

And so, said the Major, pray, let me 

advise 
The carefuUest use of your ears and 

your eyes ; 
And ceteris paribus, take you a maid 
(Of widows, my boy, I am something 

afraid !) 
Who gives you — the darling ! — her 

hand and her love, 
With a sigh for her "dear sainted 

mother above ! " 
From which the conclusion you safely 

may draw, 
She will never appear as your mother- 
in-law ! 



NIL ADMIRARI. 



When Horace in Vendusian groves 
Was scribbling wit or sipping " Mas- 
sic," 

Or singing those delicious loves 
Which after ages reckon classic. 

He wrote one day — 't was no vagary — 

These famous words : — Nil adniirari ! 



" Wonder at nothing ! " said the bard ; 

A kingdom's fall, a nation's rising, 
A lucky or a losing card. 

Are really not at all surprising ; 
However men or manners vary, 
Keep cool and calm ; Nil adniirari ! 



If kindness meet a cold return ; 

If friendship prove a dear delusion; 
If love, neglected, cease to burn, 

Or die untimely of profusion, — 
Such lessons well may make us wary, 
But need n't shock ; Nil admirari ! 



Does disappointment follow gain 1 
Or wealth elude the keen pursuer ? 

Does pleasure end in poignant pain 1 
Does fame disgust the lucky wooer, 

Or haply prove perversely chary 1 

'T was ever thus ; Nil admirari ! 



Does January wed with May, 
Or ugliness consort with beauty 1 

Does Piety forget to pray 1 

And, heedless of connubial duty, 

Leave faithful Ann for wanton Mary ? 

'T is the old tale ; Nil admirari ! 



Ah ! when the happy day we reach 
When promisers are ne'er deceivers ; 

When parsons practice what they 
preach. 
And seeming saints are all believers, 

Then the old maxim you may vary, 

And say no more, Nil admirari ! 



68 



CARMEN L^TUM. 



THE COQUETTE. 

A POKTKAIT. 

" You 're clever at drawing, I own," 
Said my beautiful cousin Lisette, 

As we sat by the window alone, 

" But say, can you paint a Coquette ? " 

" She 's painted already," quoth I ; 
" Nay, nay ! " said the laughing Li- 
sette, 
" Now none of your joking, — but 
try 
And paint me a thorough Coquette." 

" Well, cousin," at once I began 
In the ear of the eager Lisette, 

" I '11 paint you as well as I can 
That wonderful thing, a Coquette. 

" She wears a most beautiful face " 
("Of course!" said the pretty Li- 
sette), 

" And is n't deficient in grace, 
Or else she were not a Coquette. 

" And then she is daintily made " 
(A smile from the dainty Lisette), 

"By people expert in the trade 
Of forming a proper Coquette. 

"She 's the winningest ways with the 
beaux " 
(" Go on ! " — said the winning Li- 
sette), 
"But there is n't a man of them 
knows 
The mind of the fickle Coquette ! 

" She knows how to weep and to 
sigh " 

(A sigh from the tender Lisette), 
" But her weeping is all in my eye, — 

Not that of the cunning Coquette ! 

" In short, she 's a creature of art " 
(" Oh hush !" said the frowning Li- 
sette), 

" With merely the ghost of a heart, — 
Enough for a thorough Coquette. 

" And yet I could easily prove " 

("Now don't!" said the angry Li- 
sette), 

" The lady is always in love, — 
In love with herself, — the Coquette ! 



" There, — do not be angry ! — you 
know. 
My dear little cousin Lisette, 
You told me a moment ago 

To paint yovi, — a thorough Co- 
quette ! '' 



CAKMEN L^TUM. 

RECITED, AFTER DINNER, BEFORE THE 
ALUMNI OF MIDDLEBUKY COLLEGE, 
AT THEIR SEMI-CENTENNIAL CELE- 
BRATION, AUGUST 22, 1850. 

A RIGHT loving welcome, my true> 

hearted Brothers, 
Who have come out to visit the kindest 

of mothers ; 
You may think as you will, but there 

is n't a doubt 
Alma Mater rejoices, and knows you are 

out! 
Rejoices to see you in gratitude here. 
Returning to honor her fiftieth year. 
And while the good lady is so over- 
come 
With maternal emotion, she 's stricken 

quite dumb 
(A thing, I must ovra, that 's enough to 

perplex 
A shallow observer, who thinks that the 

sex. 
Whatever may be their internal reveal- 

ings. 
Can never be pained with unspeakable 

feelings), 
Indulge me, dear Brothers, nor think 

me ill-bred. 
If I venture a moment to speak in her 

steatl. 
I, who, though the humblest and home- 
liest one. 
Feel the natural ])ride of a dutiful son, 
And esteem it to-day the profouudest of 

joys, 
That, not less than yourselves, I am one 

of the boys ! 

Eirst as to her health, which, I 'm 
sorry to say, 

Has been better, no doubt, than she finds 
it to-day ; 

Yet when you reflect she 's been some- 
what neglected. 

She 's really as well as could weU be ex- 
pected ; 



CARMEN LJF.rUM. 



69 



r 



And, spite of ill-treatment and prema- 
ture fears, 

Is a hearty old lady, for one of her 
years. 

Indeed, I must tell you a bit of a 
tale. 

To show you she 's feeling remarkably 
hale ; 

How she turned up her nose, but a short 
time ago. 

At a rather good-looking importunate 
beau, 

And how she refused, with a princess- 
like carriage 

" A very respectable offer of marriage." * 

You see, my dear Brothers, a neigh- 
boring College 

Who values himself on the depth of his 
knowledge, 

With a prayer for her love, and an eye 
to her laud. 

Walked up to the lady and offered his 
hand. 

For a minute or so she was all in a flut- 
ter. 

And had not a word she could audibly 
utter ; 

For she felt in her bosom, beyond all 
concealing, 

A kind of a — sort of a — widow-like 
feeling ! 

But recovering soon from the delicate 
shock, 

She held up her head like an old-fash- 
ioned clock, 

And, with proper composure, went on 
and defined, 

In suitable phrases, the state of her 
mind ; 

Said she would n't mind changing her 
single condition 

Could she fairly expect to improve her 
position ; 

And thus, by some words of equivocal 
scope, 

Gave her lover decided " permission to 
hope." 

It were idle to talk of the billing and 
cooing 

The amorous gentleman used in his 
wooing ; 



* Allusion is had, in this and subsequent 
lines, to an unsuccessful attempt to unite Mid- 
dlebui-y College with the University of Ver- 
mont. The att'iiir is here treated with the license 
of a dinner poem, and with the partiality per- 
mitted to the occasion. 



Or how she replied to his pressing ad- 
vances, 

His oscular touches and ocular glances : 

'T is enough that his courtship, by all 
that is known. 

Was quite the old story, and much like 
your own ! 

Thus the matter went on, till the lady 

found out, 
One very fine day, what the rogue was 

about, — 
That all that he wanted was merely 

that power 
By marital license to pocket her dower, 
And then to discard her in sorrow and 

shame. 
Bereaved of her home and her name and 

her fame. 
In deep indignation she turned on her 

heel. 
With such withering scorn as a lady 

might feel 
For a knave, who, in stealing her mini- 
ature case, 
Should take the gold setting, and leave 

her the face ! 
But soon growing calm as the breast of 

the deep, 
When the breezes are hushed that the 

waters may sleep. 
She sat in her chair, like a dignified elf, 
And thus, while I listened, she talked 

to herself : — 
" Nay, 't was idle to think of so foolish 

a plan 
As a match with this pert University- 
man, 
For I have n't a chick but would redden 

with shame 
At the very idea of my losing my name ; 
And would" feel that no sorrow so heavy 

could come 
To his mother as losing her excellent 

home. 
'T is true I am weak, but mj'' children 

are strong, 
And won't see me suffer privation or 

wrong ; 
So, away with the dream of connubial 

joys, 

I '11 stick to the homestead, and look to 
the boys ! " 

How joyous, my friends, is the cordial 
greeting 
Which gladdens the heart at a family 
meeting ; 



70 



CARMEN LJETUM. 



When brothers assemble at Friendship's 
old shrine 

To look at the present, and talk of 
" Lang Syne " ! 

Ah ! well I remember the halcyon years, 

Too earnest for laughter, too pleasant 
for tears, 

When life was a boon in yon classical 
court, 

'Though lessons were long, and though 
commons were short ! 

Ah ! well I remember those excellent 
men. 

Professors and tutors, who reigned o'er 
us theu ; 

Who guided our feet over Science's bogs, 

And led us quite safe through Philoso- 
phy's fogs. 

Ah ! well 1 remember the President's * 
face, 

As he sat at the lecture with dignified 
grace, 

And neatly unfolded the mystical themes 

Of various deep metaphysical schemes, — 

How he brightened the path of his stu- 
dious flock. 

As he gave them a key to that wonder- 
ful Locke ; 

How he taught us to feel it was fatal in- 
deed 

With too much reliance to lean upon 
Reid ; 

That Steiva7-t was sounder, but wrong at 
the last, 

From following his master a little too 
fast, — 

Then closed the discourse in a scholarly 
tone, 

With a clear and intelligent creed of his 
own. 

That the man had his faults it were safe 
to infer, — 

Though I really don't recollect what 
they were, — 

I barely remember this one little truth, 

When his case was discussed by the crit- 
ical j'outh. 

The Seniors and Freshmen were sure to 
divide. 

And the former were all on the Presi- 
dent's side ! 

And well I remember another, whose 
praise 
Were a suitable theme for more elegant 
lays; 

* Joshua Bates, D. D. 



But even in numbers ungainly and 
rough, 

I must mention the name of our glori- 
ous Hough ! 

Who does not remember "? for who can 
forget. 

Till Memory's star shall forever have set, 

How he sat in his place unaffected and 
bold, 

And taught us more truths than the les- 
son had told ? 

Gave a lift to " Old Nol," for the love 
of the right, 

And a slap at the Stuarts, with cordial 
spite ; 

And, quite in the teeth of conventional 
rules, 

Hurled his adjectives down upon tyrants 
and fools ? 

But, chief, he excelled in his proper vo- 
cation 

Of giving the classics a classic transla- 
tion ; 

In Latin and Greek he was almost orac- 
ular, 

And, what 's more to his praise, under- 
stood the vernacular. 

Oh, 't was pleasant to hear him make 
English of Greek, 

Till you felt that lu) tongue was inher- 
ently weak; 

While Horace in Latin seemed quite 
unaerstated. 

And rejoiced like old Enoch in being 
translated ! 

And others there were — but the hour 

would fail, 
To bring them all up in historic detail ; 
And yet I would give, ere the moment 

has fled, 
A sigh for the absent, a tear for the 

dead. 
There 's not one of them all, where'er 

he may rove. 
In the shadows of earth, or the glories 

above. 
In the home of his birth, or in lands far 

away. 
But comes back to be kindly remem- 
bered to-day ! 

One little word more, and my duty is 

done ; — 
A health to our Mother, from each 

mother's son! 
Unfading in beauty, increasing in 

strength, 



POST-PRANDIAL VERSES. 



71 



May she flourish in health through the 

century's length ; 
And next when her children come round 

her to boast, 
May Esto perpetua then be the toast ! 



MY BOYHOOD. 

Ah me ! those joyous days are gone ! 
I little dreamt, till they were flown, 

How fleeting were the hours ! 
For, lest he break the pleasing spell, 
Time bears for youth a muffled bell, 

And hides his face in flowers ! 

Ah ! well I mind me of the days, 

Still bright in memory's flattering rays, 

When all was fair and new ; 
When knaves were only found in books, 
And friends were known by friendly 
looks, 

And love was always true ! 

While yet of sin I scarcely dreamed. 
And everything was what it seemed, 

And all too bright for choice ; 
When fays were wont to guard my sleep. 
And Crusoe still could make me weep. 

And Santa Claus, rejoice ! 

When heaven was pictured to my 

thought 
(In spite of all my mother taught 

Of happiness serene) 
A theatre of boyish plays, — 
One glorious round of holidays, 

Without a school between ! 

Ah me ! those joyous days are gone ! 
I little dreamt, till they were flown, 

How fleeting were the hours ! 
For, lest he break the pleasing spell, 
Time bears for youth a muffled bell, 

And hides his face in flowers ! 



POST-PEANDIAL VERSES. 

RECITED AT THE EESTIVAI/ OP THE 
PSI UPSILON PKATEKNITY, IN BOS- 
TON, JULY 21, 1853. 

Dear Brothers, who sit at this boi;nti- 

ful board. 
With excellent viands so lavishly stored 



That, in newspaper phrase, t would un- 
doubtedly f/roan. 

If groaning were but a convivial tone. 

Which it is n't, — and therefore, by sym- 
pathy led. 

The tabic, no doubt, is rejoicing instead. 

Dear Brothers, I rise, — and it won't be 
surprising 

If you find me, like bread, all the better 
for rising, — 

I rise to express my exceeding delight 

In our cordial reunion this glorious 
night ! 

Success to "Psi Upsilon!" — Beauti- 
ful name ! — 

To the eye and the ear it is pleasant the 
same ; 

Many thanks to old Cadmus who made 
us his debtors. 

By inventing, one day, those capital let- 
ters 

Which still, from the heart, we shall 
know how to speak 

When we 've fairly forgotten the rest of 
our Greek ! 

To be open and honest in all that you 
do; 

To every high trust to be faithful and 
true ; 

In aught that concerns morality's 
scheme. 

To be more ambitious to be than to 
seem ; 

To cultivate honor as higher in worth 

Than favor of fortune, or genius, or 
birth; 

By every endeavor to render your lives 

As spotless and fair as your — possible 
wives ; 

To treat with respect all the innocent 
rules 

That keep us at peace with society's 
fools ; 

But to face every canon that e'er was de- 
signed 

To batter a town or beleaguer a mind. 

Ere you yield to the Moloch that Fash- 
ion has reared 

One jot of your freedom, or hair of your 
beard, — 

All this, and much more, I might ven- 
ture to teach. 

Had I only a " call " — and a " license 
to preach " ; 

But since I have not, to my modesty 
true, 

I '11 lay it all by, as a layman should do, 



72 



LOOKING OUT INTO THE NIGHT. 



And drop a few lines, tipt with Momus's 

flies, 
To angle for shiners — that lurk in your 

eyes! 

May you ne'er get in love or in debt 
with a doubt 

As to whether or no you will ever get 
out; 

May you ne'er have a mistress who plays 
the coquette, 

Or a neighbor who blows on a cracked 
clarionet ; 

May you learn the first use of a lock on 
your door. 

And ne'er, like Adonis, be killed by a 
bore ; 

Shun canting and canters with resolute 
force 

(A "canter" is shocking, except in a 
horse) ; 

At jovial parties mind what you are at, 

Beware of your head and take care of 
your hat. 

Lest you find that a favorite son of your 
mother 

Has a brick in the one and an ache in 
the other ; 

May you never, I pray, to worry your 
life, 

Have a weak-minded friend, or a strong- 
minded wife ; 

A tailor distrustful, or partner suspi- 
cious ; 

A dog that is rabid, or nag that is 
vicious ; 

Above all — the chief blessing the gods 
can impart — 

May you keep a clear head and a gen- 
erous heart; 

Remember 't is blessed to give and for- 
give ; 

Live chiefly to love, and love while you 
live; 

And dying, when life's little journey is 
done. 

May your last, fondest sigh, be PSI 
Upsilon ! 



THE SILVER WEDDING. 

TO JOHN NEWMAN, D. D. 

"A WEDDING of Silver! — and what 
shall we do ? " 
I said in response to my excellent 
spouse, 



Who hinted, this morning, we ought to 
renew 
According to custom, our conjugal 
vows. 

" I would n't much mind it, now — if — 
and suppose — 
The bride were a blooming — Ah ! 
well — on my life, 
I think — to be candid — (don't turn up 
your nose !) 
That every new wedding should bring 
a new wife ! " 

" And what if it should ? " was the 
laughing reply ; 
"Do you think, my dear John, you 
could ever obtain 
Another so fond and so faithful as I, 
Should you purchase a wig, and go 
courting again ? " 

" Ah ! darling," I answered, " 't is just 
as you say ; " 
And clasping a waist rather shapely 
than small, 
I kissed the dear girl in so ardent a 
way 
You would n't have guessed we were 
married at all ! 

My wedding-day, Doctor, is also your 
own ! 
And so I send greeting to bridegroom 
and bride, — 
The latter a wife good as ever was 
known ; 
The former well worthy her homage 
and pride. 

God bless your new nuptials ! — Still 
happy at home. 
May you both grow serenely and 
gracefully old ; 
And, till the auriferous wedding shall 
come. 
Find the years that are past were as 

silver to gold ! 
September 9, 1866. 



LOOKING OUT INTO THE 
NIGHT. 

Looking out into the night, 
I behold in space afar 
Yonder beaming, blazing star ; 



DE MUSA. 



73 



And I marvel at the might 

Of the Giver of the rays, 

And I worship as l.gaze, 
Looking out into the night. 

Looking out into the night, 
I espy two lovers near, 
And their happy words I hear. 

While their solemn troth they plight ; 
And I bless the loving twain, 
Half in pleasure, half in pain, — 

Looking out into the night. 

Looking out into the night, 
Lo ! a woman passing by, 
Glancing round with anxious eye, 

Tearful, fearful of the light ; 

And I think what might have been 
But for treachery and sin, — 

Looking out into the night. 

Looking out into the night, 
I behold a distant sail 
Roughly beaten by the gale 

Till it vanishes from sight ; 
And I ponder on the strife 
Of our fleeting human life. 

Looking out' into the night. 

Looking out into the night, 
I bethink me of the rest 
And the rapture of the blest 

In the land where all is light ; 
Sitting on the heavenly shore. 
Weeping never, — nevermore 

Looking out into the night ! 



THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 

GooD-BT, Old Year ! I can but say. 
Sadly I see thee passing away ; 
Passing away with the hopes and 

fears, 
The bliss and pain, the smiles and 

tears. 
That come to us aU in all the years. 

Good-by, Old Year ! Little indeed 
Thy friendly voice we were wont to 
heed, 
Telling us, warning us every day : — 
" Transient mortals ! work and pray ; 
You, like me, are passing away ! " 

Good-by, Old Year ! Whatever may be 
The sins and stains thou hast chanced 
to see, 



Consider, Year ! to purge the same. 
And wash away the sin and shame, 
Whilst thou wert passing, Christ- 
mas came ! 

Good-by, Old Year! With words of 

grace 
Leave us to him who takes thy place ; 
And say, Old Year, unto the New, 
" Kindly, carefully, carry them 

through. 
For much, I ween, they have yet to 
do!" 



DE MUSA. 

" Write a poem — solemn — earnest — 

Worthy of your muse ! " 
Ah ! when loving lips command me, 

How can I refuse 1 
But the subject ! — that 's the pother — 

What am I to choose 1 

War ■? The theme is something hack- 
neyed ; 

Since old Homer's time, 
Half the minstrels, large and little, 

Have been making rhyme 
With intent to prove that murder 

(Wholesale) is sublime ! 

Love 1 A most delicious topic ; 

But how many score, 
Nay, how many thousand poets 

Deal in Cupid's lore. 
From Anacreon to Catullus, 

Not to mention Moore. 

Grief ? Ah ! little joy has Sorrow 

In the mimic art ; 
Can the lyre's melodious moaning 

Ease the mourner's smart. 
Though the strings were veiy fibres 

Of the player's heart 1 

Nature, — posies, woods and waters 1 

Everlasting themes, — 
Can the poets, in the rapture 

Of their finest dreams. 
Paint the lily of the valley 

Eairer than she seems ? 

Metaphysics 1 Quite in fashion, — 

But Apollo's curse 
Blasts the syllogistic rhymer ; 

Why should I rehearse 



74 



ROGER BONTEMPS. 



Kant in cantos, or old Plato 
Torture into verse ? 

Humor, satire, fun, and fancy, 
Wit with wisdom blent, — 

These, to give my Muse amusement, 
Heaven has kindly lent ; 

Let her live and die a-laughing, 
I shall be content ! 



AUGUSTA. 

" Incedit regina ! " 

" Handsome and haughty ! " — a com- 
ment that came 
From lips which were never accus- 
tomed to malice ; 
A girl with a presence superb as her 
name, 
And charmingly fitted for love — in 
a palace ! 
And oft I have wished (for in musing 
alone 
One's fancy is apt to be very erratic) 
That the lady might wear — No ! I 
never will own 
A thought so decidedly undemocrat- 
ic!— 
But if't were a coronet — this I '11 aver, 
No duchess on earth could more grace- 
fully wear it ; 
And even a democrat, thinking of her, 
Might surely be pardoned for wishing 
to share it ! 



EOGER BONTEMPS. 



IMITATED FKOM BEEANGER. 



By way of good example 

To all the gloomy clan, 
There came into existence 

Good Robin Merryman. 
To laugh at those who grumble, 

And be jolly as he can, — 
Oh that 's the onl}^ system 

Of Robin Merryman ! 



A hat so very ancient 
It might have covered Moses, 



Adorned, on great occasions, 
With ivy-leaves or roses ; 

A coat the very coarsest 
Since tailoring began, — 

Oh that 's the gay apparel 
Of Robin Merryman ! 



Within his cottage Robin 

With joyful eye regards 
A table and a bedstead, 

A flute, a pack of cards, 
A chest, with nothing in it, 

An earthen water-can, — 
Oh these are all the riches 

Of Robin Merryman ! 



To teach the village children 

The funniest kind of plays ; 
To tell a clever story ; 

To dance on holidays ; 
To puzzle through the almanac ; 

A merry song to scan, — 
Oh that is all the learning 

Of Robin Merryman ! 



To drink his mug of cider. 

And never sigh for wine ; 
To look at courtly ladies, 

Yet think his Marj divine ; 
To take the good that 's going. 

Content with nature's plan, — 
Oh that is the philosophy 

Of Robin Merryman ! 



To say, " O Gracious Father ! 
Excuse my merry pranks ; 

For all thy loving-kindness 
I give thee hearty thanks ; 

And may I still be jolly- 
Through life's remaining span," • 

Oh that 's the style of praying 
With Robin Merryman ! 

TII. 

Now, all ye wretched mortals 

Aspiring to be rich ; 
And ye whose gilded coaches 

Have tumbled in the ditch ; 
Leave off your silly whining, 

Adopt a wiser plan ; 
Go follow the example 

Of Robin Merryman ! 



THE HUNTER AND THE MILKMAID. 



75 



THE KING OF NORMANDY. 

FKOM BERANGER's " LE KOI d'TYE- 
TOT." 



In Normandy there reigned a king 

(I 've quite forgot his name) 
Who led a jolly sort of life. 

And did n't cave for fame. 
A nightcap was his crown of state. 
Which Jenny placed upon his pate. 
Ha ! ha ! laugh and sing : 
dh was n't he a funny king 1 



He ate his meals, like other folk, 

Slept soundly and secure, 
And on a donkey every year 

He made his royal tour ; 
A little dog — it was his whim — 
Was bodj'-guard enough for him. 
Ha ! ha ! laugh and sing : 
Oh was n't he a funny king ? 



A single foible he confessed, — 

A tendency to drink ; 
But kings who heed their subjects' need 

Should mind their own, I think ; 
And thus it was his tax he got, — 
For every cask an extra pot. 
Ha ! ha ! laugh and sing : 
Oh was n't he a funny king ? 



The lasses loved this worthy king ; 

And many a merry youth 
Would hail his majesty as " Sire," 

And often spoke the truth. 
He viewed his troops in goodly ranks, 
But still their cartridges were blanks. 
Ha ! ha ! laugh and sing : 
Oh was n't he a funny king ? 



He never stole his neighbor's land 

To magnify his realm ; 
But steered his little ship of state 

With honor at the helm ; 
And when at last the king was dead. 
No wonder all the people said, — 

"Ah ! ah ! weep and sing : 
Oh was n't he a noble king 1 " 



THE HUNTER AND THE MILK- 
MAID. 

FROM BERANGER'S " LB CHASSEUR ET 
LA LAITIEKE." 



The lark is singing her matin lay, 
Oh come with me, fair maiden, I pray ; 
Sweet, oh sweet is the morning hour, 
And sweeter still is yon ivied bower ; 
Wreaths of roses I '11 twine for thee. 
Oh come, fair maiden, along with me ! 

Ah ! Sir Hunter, my mother is near; 

1 really must n't be loitering here. 



Thy mother, fair maiden, is far away, 
And never will listen a word we say. 
I '11 sing thee a song that ladies sing 
In royal castles to please the king ; 
A wondrous song, whose magical charm 
Will keep the singer from every harm. 
Fie ! Sir Hunter, a fig for your song, 
Good by ! for I must be going along. 



Ah ! well, if singing will not prevail, 
I '11 tell thee, then, a terrible tale ; 
'T is all about a Baron so bold. 
Huge and swart, and ugly and old. 
Who saw the ghost of his murdered 

wife, — 
A pleasant story, upon my life ! 

Ah ! Sir Hunter, the story is flat ; 

/ know one worth a dozen of that. 



I '11 teach thee, then, a curious prayer 
Of wondrous power the wolf to scare, 
And frighten the Avitch that hovers nigh 
To blight the young Avith her evil eye. 
guard, fair maiden, thy beauty well, 
A fearful thing is her wicked spell ! 

Oh, I can read my missal, yon know. 

Good by. Sir Hunter, for I must go. 



Nay, tarry a moment, my charming girl : 
Here is a jewel of gold and pearl ; 
A beautifixl cross it is, I ween. 
As ever on beauty's breast was seen. 
There 's nothing at all but love to pay ; 
Take it, and Avear it, but only stay ! 

Ah ! Sir Hunter, what excellent 
taste ! 

I 'm not — in such — particular — 
haste I 



76 



THE DINNER. 



THE POET TO HIS GAEEET. 

PROM BERANGER. 

Thrice welcome the place where at 
twenty I sought 
A nest for myself and my darling 
grisette ; 
Where I learned the queer lessons that 
poverty taught, 
And with friendship and love ban- 
ished care and regret. 
'T was here that we managed our social 
affairs, 
Unheeding what dunces or sages 
might say ; 
How lightly I bounded up six pair o' 
stairs ! 
Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is gay ! 

'T was only a garret ! the table stood 
here; 
And there a flock-bed, — 'twas the 
best we could get ; 
And here on the plaster in charcoal ap- 
pear 
Three lines of a poem, unfinished as 
yet. 
" Come back to me, Pleasures ! " I 
eagerly shout ; 
" To keep you alive in my juvenile 
day 
How oft my repeater was ' put up the 
spout ! ' " 
Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is gay ! 

My laughing Lisette ! would she only 
come back. 
In her jaunty straw bonnet how 
charming was she ! 
Full well I remember her dexterous 
knack 
Of hanging her shawl where the cur- 
tain should be ; 
Love ! kiss her silk gown with your 
fondest caress ; 
You know where she got it, I venture 
to say. 
I never was certain who paid for the 
dress ; 
Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is 
gay! 

One notable day in those glorious 
years, 
As we sat in the midst of our feasting 
and fun, 



A shout from the people saluted our 
ears, 
" Napoleon is victor ! Marengo is 
won ! " 
A new song of triumph at once we es- 
sayed, 
While cannon were blazing and boom- 
ing away, 
"The free soil of France kings shall 
never invade ! " 
Ah! life in a garret at twenty is 
gay! 

Away ! I must go lest my reason should 
reel ; 
For one of those days I would cheer- 
fully give, 
With the pulses of youth that no longer 
I feel, 
All the lingering years I am destined 
to live ; 
The love, hope, and joy that at twenty 
I had, 
To have them condensed in one 
glorious day. 
Like those that 1 spent when a light- 
hearted lad ! 
Ah ! life in a garret at twenty is 
gay! 



THE DINNER. 

FROM THE GERMAN OE GOETHE. 

Ah ! many a guest is coming 

Around my table to-day ; 
The fish, the flesh, and the poultry 

Are smoking in goodly array ; 
The invitations were special. 

They say they will surely appear. 
Hans, go look at the window ; 

Time that the jjeople were here ! 

Girls are coming by dozens. 

Maidens whoni even their foes 
Never have once detected 

Kissing beneath the rose ; 
Such are the damsels invited ; 

They said they would surely appear. 
Hans, go look at the window ; 

Time that the maidens were here ! 

Plenty of fine young fellows 

Are coming to drink my health j 

Civil, and moral, and modest, 
Spite of their titles and wealth. 



THE BEST OF HUSBANDS. 



7T 



The invitations were early ; 

They say they will surely appear. 
Hans, go look at the window ; 

Time that the younkers were here ! 

Plenty of wives are coming, 

Such as the ugliest spouse 
Never has driven a moment 

To think of breaking their vows. 
How pleasant to see them together ! 

They said they would surely appear. 
Hans, go look at the window ; 

Time that the women were here ! 

Husbands also are coming, 

Models of temperate lives ; 
Men who are blind to beauty, 

Save in their excellent wives. 
All were politely invited. 

And say they will surelj^ appear. 
Hans, go look at the window ; 

Time that the fellows were here ! 

Poets are also invited ; 

The pleasantest ever were known ; 
Who list to another's verses 

Cheerfully as to their own ; 
What capital dining companions ! 

They said they would surely appeal'. 
Hans, go look at the window ; 

Time that the poets were here ! 

Alas ! with watching and waiting. 

The dinner is certainly spoiled ; 
The viands are cold in the dishes, 

The roast and the baked and the 
boiled. 
Perhaps we were over-punctilious ; 

Our feast is a failure, I fear. 
Hans, come away from the window ; 

Never a one will be here ! 



FOOLS INCORRIGIBLE. 

FROM THE GERMAN OP GOETHE. 
I. 

All the old sages, however indeed 
They wrangle and fight in the bitter- 
est way. 
In one thing, at least, are fully agreed : 
They wink at each other and laugh- 
ingly say, 
For the mending of fools it is foolish to 
wait, 



Fools loill be fools as certain as fate. 

So7is of Wisdom ! make 'em your 

tools ; 
That, only that, is the use of fools ! 



Merlin, the ancient, long in his shroud, 
Where I accosted him once in my 
youth. 
Unto my questioning answered aloud, 

Solemnly speaking this notable truth : 
For the mending of fools it is foolish to 

wait, 
Fools will be fools as certain as fate. 

Sons of Wisdo7n ! make 'em your 

tools ; 
That, only that, is the use of fools ! 



High on the top of an Indian mound 
I heard it once in the passing air ; 
And Egypt's vaults, deep under the 
ground. 
The same old tale were echoing there : 
For the mending of fools it is foolish to 

wait, 
Fools will be fools as certain as fate. 

So7is of Wisdom! make 'em your 

tools. 
That, only that, is the use of fools ! 



THE BEST OF HUSBANDS. 

FROM THE GERMAN. 

Oh I have a man as good as can be, 
No woman could wish for a better than 

he. 
Sometimes, indeed, he may chance to be 

wrong, 
But his love for me is uncommonly 

strong. 

He has one little fault that makes me 

fret. 
He has ever less money, by far, than 

debt; 
Moreover, he thrashes me now and then ; 
But, excepting that, he 's the best of 

men! 

I own he is dreadfully given to drink, 
Besides, he is rather too fond, I think. 
Of playing at cards and dice ; but then, 
Excepting that, he 's the best of men ! 



78 



TEE EDITOR'S CRIME. 



He loves to chat with the girls, I 
know 

( 'T is the way with men, they are al- 
ways so), 

But what care I for his flirting, when, 

Excepting that, he 's the best of men ? 

When soaked with rum, he is hardly po- 
lite, 

But knocks the crockery left and right, 

And pulls my hair, and growls again ; 

But, excepting that, he 's the best of 
men ! 

I can't but say I think he is rash 

To pawn my pewter, and spend the 

cash. 
But I haven't the heart to scold him, 

when, 
Excepting that, he 's the best of men ! 

What joy to think he 's all my own ! 
The best of husbands that ever was 

known ; 
As good, indeed, as a man can be ; 
And who could wish for a better than 

he? 



ADVICE TO A YOUNG FEIEND, 

WHO THINKS HE SHOULD LIKE TO BE 
A LAWTEK. 

No, no, my boy ! let others sweat 

And wrangle in the courts ; 
Their Pleas are most unpleasiug things ; 

You cannot trust Reports ! 

Although the law of literature 

May your attention draw, 
I 'm very sure you would n't like 

The Literature of Law ! 

Justinian's Novels don't compare 
With those of Walter Scott ; 

They 've very little sentiment, 
And deuce a bit of plot ! 

When Coke on Littleton came down. 
He served him right ; but who 

Would say it were a civil thiug 
To set tliem both on you 1 

In Blackstone there is much, I own, 
Well worthy of regard; 



But then, my boy, like other stones. 
You '11 find him precious hard ! 

Sir William Jones is very well. 

As every scholar knows ; 
But read, my lad, his poetry, 

And never mind his prose. 

Though Angell tempt you, heed him 
not ; 

For Satan, to his shame. 
Full oft, .to further wicked ends, 

Employs a seraph's name ! 

Though Aiken may be very wise, 

Pray what is that to you ? 
His reader will be apt to find 

That he is achin' too ! 

There 's Story now, the lawyers say, 

Is very fine indeed ; 
I only know he 's not the kind 

Young fellows like to read ! 

And as for Cruise, though much ad- 
mired, 

You 'd better let him be. 
And use, instead, the milder sort 

That people take at sea ! 

No, no, my boy ! let others sweat 

And wrangle in the courts ; 
There 's nothing pleasing in a Plea ; 

You cannot trust Reports ! 

Although the law of literature 

May your attention draw, 
I 'm very sure you would n't like 

The Literature of Law ! 



THE EDITOR'S CEIME. 

With a gloomy air, 

And a dreamy stare, 
An Editor sits in his sanctum-chair, 
Musing like one in trouble or doubt ; 
And what do you think he is thinking 
about 1 

" I 'm sorely afraid 
This wearisome trade 

Will waste me away to the veriest 
shade ; 

And force me, perhaps, — but that can- 
not be — 

A murder 's a horrible crime ! " said he. 



THE EDITOR'S CRIME. 



79 



" I never shirk 
Editorial work, 
Nor mind the libel that in it may 

lurk ; 
Miscellaneous matter is easy to choose ; 
But the News ! — the News ! — they will 

have News ! 

" A leader to write 
Or a tale to indite, 

Is easy as lying — that is n't the 'bite ' ; 

All wholesome reading the public re- 
fuse ; 

'T is ' News ! '— ' Neius ! ' — ' News ! ' — 
they will have News ! 

" That 's not the worst. 
My paper is curs'd, 
Unless it is crammed, till it 's ready to 

burst. 
With doings atwhich humanity quails, — 
Eapes, Riots, and Murders, with all the 

details ! 

"A bloodless row, 
Or a five-legged cow. 
Is quite too tame for an item now ; 
' News,' — 'News,' — ' News ! ' — is still 

the song, 
And then they will have it so horribly 

strong ! 

" 'T was but t' other day 
I heard a man say, 

He wa'n't to be done in so shabby a 
way, — 

For, of ail the crimes my paper could 
boast, 

The worst, for a month, was a ' Mur- 
der ! — almost.' 

" Ah ! malbeureux ! 
'T is true ! — 't is true ! 
But what the deuce can an Editor 

_ dt)? 
If crimes won't happen, they don't sup- 
pose 
I 'm going to make 'em 1 — (Ha ! ha ! 
— who knows?) 

" I will — I won't — 
I dare — I don't ! — 
I tremble to think I am thinking 

upon 't ! " 
The blackest of frowns is clouding his 

brow, — 
Oh, what is the Editor muttering 

now? 



On the following day. 
In a flaming way, 
The Pepperville Post was "shocked to 

say, 
Our slumbering city was roused last 

night 
By a startling sound, and a horrible 
sight ! 

" Diabolical Crime ! 
Last night, — sometime, — 
Not far from the stroke of the midnight 

chime, 
By some person unknown, with a jjistol 

or gun, 
A most unnatural Murder was Done 

" On Jonathan Brown ! — 
While walking down 
The principal street of our beautiful 

town, — 
A citizen held in the highest regard ; 
And the Mayor should oifer a handsome 

reward 

" For the infamous wretch, 
That the rascal may stretch 
The best bit of rope in the hands of Jack 

Ketch ! 
Post scriptum. A chap has been lurking 

about 
Whom nobody knows, — the assassin, 

no doubt. 

" Still Later ! 'T is said 
That the murderous lead 
Had a conical shape, and went quite 

through the head: 
gi^^ Of our wideawake journal we 

don't wish to boast, 
But no Pepperville print has the news, 

but the Post ! " 

I grieve to tell 
Suspicion fell 
On the man who had told the story so 

well ! 
Namely, the Editor ! — none but he 
Knew aught of the case, — who else 
could it be ? 

On looking around, 
A bullet was found 
(Of a conical shape) not far from the 

ground 
Whereon it was known the murder was 

done, — 
A bullet that Jilted the Editor's gun ! 



80 



PADDTS ODE TO THE PRINCE. 



'T is sad to relate 
How the merciless State 
Doomed him to suffer a murderer's fate ; 
And how on the gallows the wicked Ed- 
itor 
Died, — lamented by many a cred- 
itor ! 

But I 'm glad to say 

It was told, that day, 
Such things are out of the usual way, 
And, to the honor of all the corps, 
Never was Editor hanged before ! 

FIRST MORAL. 

Don't edit a journal ! 
(That is, a diurnal,) 
The labors and dangers are really infer- 
nal ; 
And will drive you, at last, to some folly 

or other ; 
Perhaps to the fate of your Pepperville 
brother ! 

SECOND MORAL. 

If you choose to regard 
Such advice as too hard, 
And will edit a Daily, in spite of the 

bard. 
Go to Babylon, — where, in the dullest 

of times, 
You won't have occasion to do your own 
" Crimes ! " 

THIRD MORAL. 

If you must have a bite 
At eleven at night, 
Don't eat lobster-salad, but take some- 
thing light ; 
Or, — crede experto, — you 'd better be- 
ware 
Of taking a nap in your sanctum chair ! 



PADDY'S ODE TO THE PEINCE. 

O MIGHTY Prince ! 
It 's no offense, 

Your worship, that I mane ye, 
While I confiss 
'T was ra-al bliss, 

A moment to have sane ye ! 



That you should see 
The likes o' me, 

The while I stud adjacent, 
I don't suppose. 
Although me clo'es 

Was mighty clane and dacent. 

At coorse, ye know 
'T was long ago, 

I looked at Jukes and such men. 
And longer since. 
An English Prince 

Begotten by a Dutchman! 

But by me troth, 
And Bible-oath ! 

Wid all me Irish shyness, 
I 've passed the word 
Wid many a lord, 

Much taller than your Highness ! 

Ah ! well, — bedad. 
No doubt ye had, 

In token of allagiance, 
As good a cup 
As ye could sup 

Among thim black Canajans ; 

But wha' d 'ye think 
Of Christian dhriuk. 

Now tell me that, mc tulip ! 
When through a sthraw 
Your Highness saw,* 

The flavor of a julep ? 

Thim haythen chaps, 
The nayger Japs, 

Wid all their curst expinses, 
Just tuk their fill, 
And left a bill 

At which the paple winces ; 

But thin, no doubt, 
Ye '11 ride about 

Wid Boole and all the Aldermen ; 
They 've little sinse. 
But, for expinse, 

There 's not a set of boulder men ! 

Fernandt Wud 

Has dacent blood. 

And illigant morality ; 
And ye may swear 
Our mighty Mayor 

Will show his horsepitality ! 

* The faculty of seeing a flavor is, of course, 
peculiarly Hibernian. 



THE LOVER'S VISION. 



81 



The soldiers all 
Are at his call, 

Wid Captains to parade 'em ; 
And at the laste, 
Ye '11 get a taste 

Of dimmecratic fraydem. 

But plase to note. 
Ye 're not to vote, — 

A privilege, by Jabers ! 
Ye could n't hope, 
Were ye the Pope, 

Until ye 've got the papers ! 



Well, mighty Prince, 
Accept these hints ; 

Most frayly I indite 'em ; 
'T is luck, indade. 
If ye can rade 

As aisy as I write 'em ! 

And when the throne 
Is all ye'r own 

At which ye "re daily steerin', 
Remimber what 
Some kings forgot, — 

Remimber poor ould Erin. 



LOYE POEMS. 



WOULD N'T YOU LIKE TO 
KNOW ? 



A MADRIGAL. 



I KNOW a girl witli teeth of pearl. 
And shoulders white as snow ; 

She lives, — ah ! well, 

I must not tell, — 
Would n't you like to know ? 



Her sunny hair is wondrous fair, 
And wavy in its flow ; 

Who made it less 

One little tress, — 
Would n't you like to know 1 



Her eyes are blue (celestial hue !) 
And dazzling in their glow ; 
On whom they beam 
With melting gleam, — 
Would n't you like to know "? 



Her li]3S are red and finely wed, 
Like roses ere they blow ; 
What lover sips 
Those dewy lips, — 
Would n't you like to know ? 



Her fingers are like lilies fair 
When lilies fairest grow; 
6 



Whose hand they press 
With fond caress, — 
Would n't you like to know ? 



Her foot is small, and has a fall 
Like snowflakes on the snow ; 
And where it goes 
Beneath the rose, — 
Would n't you like to know ? 



She has a name, the sweetest name 
That language can bestow. 

'T would break the spell 

If I should tell, — 
Would n't you like to know 1 



THE LOVER'S VISION. 



In my watching or my dreaming. 
Came to me a blessed vision ; 

Whether real or but seeming, 
Boots me not to make decision : 
This I know — 't was all elysian. 



By me sat a maiden fairer 

Than the Oda's king possesses ; 

But I wrong her to compare her. 
Happy, happy whom she blesses 
With her kisses and caresses ! 



82 



TO MY LO VE. 



Golden hair, like sunlight streaming 
On the marble of her shoulder, 

That with soft and snowy gleaming 
Witched the eye of the beholder, 
Dazed me, crazed me to enfold her ! 



Heart to heart we sat together ; 
(Ah, to feel her bosom's beating ! 

Hand in hand in loving tether. 
Lip with lip in rapture meeting, 
Parting but for closer greeting. 

V. 

Oft and oft I would be dreaming, 
Could I bring that happy vision ! 

Was it real, or but seeming ? 
Boots me not to make decision : 
This I know — 't was all elysian. 



THE OATH. 

" Don't forget me ! " sighing sadly. 
So my darling bade fareAvell, 

Haply deeming I would gladly 
Disenchant me of her spell. 

Ah, the siren ! when did Beauty 
Ask in vain Love's simple debt? 

Or whene'er did languid Duty 

Heed the warning, " Don't forget " ? 

By her eyes where love reposes. 
By her wealth of golden hair. 

By her cheek's ungathered roses, 
^y her neck divinely fair. 

By her bosom, throne of blisses, 
Hiding from the wanton light, 

Pale witli envy at the kisses 
That her bolder lips invite ; 

By the hours so sweetly squandered 

In the summer afternoons ; 
By the orchard where we wandered 

In the sheen of harvest moons ; 

By the poets, new and olden, 

Who in pity lent us speech 
For the fancies, rare and golden, 

That our words could never reach, — 

By all these my oath is given : 
Though ray soul remember not 



Earthly fame or hope of heaven, 
She shall never be forgot ! 



UNREST. 

One o'clock ! and still I ponder 

On the joys of yesterday ; 
Never lover weaker, fonder. 

Sighed the weary hours away. 

Ill-content with saying, singing, j 

All its worship o'er and o'er ; I 

Still the heart would fain be clinging, i 
Round its idol, evermore ! 

Half in pleasure, half in sorrow. 
Thinking o'er each fervent kiss, 

Still I vainly strive to borrow 
From the Past its buried bliss. 

Now I hear her fondly sighing, 

As when late we sat alone, 
While the dancer's feet were flying, — 

Ah ! the sigh is but my own ! 

" Thus my darling I would smother ! " ■ 

In my dreaming oft I say. 
Foolish lips, that kiss each other ! 

Hers, alas ! are far away. 

On my cheek I feel the billow 
Of her glowing bosom beat, — 

Ah ! 't is but the pulseless pillow ! 
Shall I curse or bless the cheat ? 

Dreaming, waking, I am weary. 

Would that morning might appear ! 
Oh, 't ig dreary, verj' dreary. 

Thus to love, and not be near ! 



TO MY LOVE. 

" Da mi basia." — Catulhis. 

I. 
Kiss me softly and speak to me low ; 
Malice has ever a vigilant ear ; 
What if Malice were lurking near ? 
Kiss me, dear ! 
Kiss me softly and speak to me low. 



Kiss me softly and speak to me low ; 
Envy too has a watchful ear ; 



DARLING TELL ME YES. 



83 



What if Envy should chance to hear ? 
Kiss me, dear ! 
Kiss me softly and speak to me low. 



Kiss me softly and speak to me low ; 
Trust me, darling, the time is near 
When we may love with never a fear ; 
Kiss me, dear ! 

Kiss me softly and speak to me low. 



TO LESBIA. 



" On s'embrasse a chaque instant, 
Puis encore 1 " Victor Hugo. 



Give me kisses ! Do not stay, 
Counting in that careful way. 
All the coins your lips can print 
Never will exhaust the mint. 

Kiss me, then. 
Every moment — and again ! 



Give me kisses ! Do not stop, 
Measuring nectar by the drop. 
Though to millions they amount, 
They will never drain the fount. 

Kiss me, then, 
Every moment — and again ! 

III. 

Give me kisses ! All is waste 
Save the hixury we taste ; 
And for kissing, — kisses live 
Only when we take or give. 

Kiss me, then. 
Every moment — and again ! 



Give me kisses ! Though their worth 
Far exceeds the gems of earth, 
Never pearls so rich and pure 
Cost so little, I am sure. 

Kiss me, then, 
Every moment — and again ! 



Give me kisses ! Nay, 't is true 
I am just as rich as you ; 
And for every kiss I owe, 
I can pay you back, you know. 

Kiss me, then. 
Every moment — and again ! 



MY SAXON BLONDE. 

They say the dark-eyed maids of Spain 

Are passionate and fond ; 
But eyes of blue are tender and true, — 

Give me my Saxon blonde ! 

An arch coquette is the bright brunette. 

Blithe and merry and gay ; 
Her love may last till the Summer is 
past. 

But my blonde 's forever and aye ! 

If bards of old the truth have told. 
The Sirens have raven hair ; 

But o'er the earth, since art had birth, 
They paint the Angels fair. 

Ah! well, maybe, the truth to see, 

A lover is over fond ; 
And I can't deny — nor will I try — 

My love is a golden blonde ! 



DARLING, TELL ME YES. 

A SONG. 
I. 

One little moment more, Maud ; 

One little whisper more ; 
I have a word to speak, Maud, 

I never breathed before. 
What cau it be but love, Maud 1 

And do I rightly guess 
'Tis pleasant to your ear, Maud? 

darling ! tell me yes ! 



The burden of my heart, Maud, 

There 's little need to tell ; 
There 's little need to say, Maud, 

I 've loved you long and well. 
There 's language in a sigh, Maud, 

One's meaning to express; 
And yours — was it for me, Maud ? 

O darling ! tell me yes ! 



My eyes have told my love, Maud ; 

And on my burning cheek 
You 've read the tender thouglit, Maud, 

My lips refused to speak. 
I gave you all my heart, Maud, 

'T is needless to confess ; 



84 



TIME AND LOVE. 



And did you give me yours, Maud 1 
darliug ! tell me yes ! 



'T is sad to starve a love, Maud, 

So worshipful and true ; 
I know a little cot, Maud, 

Quite large enough for two ; 
And you will be my wife, Maud ? 

So may you ever bless. 
Through all your sunny life, Maud, 

The day you answered yes ! 



TIME AND LOVE. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

Old Time and young Love, on a morn- 
ing in May, 
Chanced to meet by a river in halcyon 
weather, 
And, agreeing for once ('t is a fable, 
you '11 say). 
In the same little boat made a voyage 
together. 

Strong, steady, and patient. Time 
pulled at his oar. 
And swift o'er the water the voyagers 
go; 
But Love, who was thinking of Pleas- 
ure on shore, 
Complained that his boatman was 
wretchedly slow. 

But Time, the old sailor, expert at his 
trade, 
And knowing the leagues that re- 
mained to be done. 
Content with the regular speed that he 
made. 
Tugged away at his oar and kept 
steadily on. 

Love, always impatient of doubt or de- 
lay, 
Now sighed for the aid of the favor- 
ing gales, 
And scolded at Time, in the sauciest 
way. 
For not having furnished the shallop 
with sails. 



But Time, as serene as a calendar saint 
(Whatever the gray beard was think- 
ing upon). 
All deaf to the voice of the younker's 
complaint. 
Tugged away at his oar and kept 
steadily on. 

Love, vexed at the heart, only clamored 
the more, 
And cried, " By the gods ! in what 
country or clime 
Was ever a lubber who handled an oar 
In so lazy a fashion as old Father 
Time 1 " 

But Time only smiled in a cynical way 
('T is often the mode with your el- 
derly Don), 
As one who knows more than he cares 
to display. 
And still at his oar pulled steadily on. 

Grown calmer at last, the exuberant 
boy 
Enlivens the minutes with snatches 
of rhyme ; 
The voyage, at length, he begins to en- 
joy, 
And soon has forgotten the presence 
of Time ! 

But Time, the severe, egotistical elf. 
Since the day that his travels he 
entered upon. 
Has ne'er for a moment forgotten him- 
self. 
But tugs at his oar and keeps steadily 
on. 

Awaking once more. Love sees with a 
sigh 
That the Kiver of Life will be pres- 
ently passed. 
And now he breaks forth with a piteous 
cry, 
" O Time, gentle Time ! you are 
rowing too fast ! " 

But Time, well knowing that Love will 
be dead. 
Dead, — dead ! in the boat ! — ere the 
voyage is done. 
Only gives him an ominous shake of the 
head, 
While he tugs at his oar and keeps 
steadily on ! 



THE CHAPEL OF TWO SAINTS. 



85 



LOVE'S CALENDAK. 

TO AN ABSENT WIFE. 

SINCE 't is decreed by the envious 
Eates, 
All deaf to the clamoring heart, 
That the truest and fondest of conjugal 
mates 
Shall often be sighing apart ; 

Since the Days of our absence are many 
and sad, 
And the HoUrs of our meeting are 
few, 
Ah! what iu a case so exceediugly 
bad. 
Can the deepest philosophy do 1 

Pray what can we do, — unfortunate 
elves. 
Unconscious of folly or crime, — 
But make a new Calendar up for our- 
selves. 
For the better appraisal of time ? 

And the Hours alone shall the Calendar 
fill 
(While Blanks show their distance 
apart), 
Just sufficiently near to keep off the 
chill 
That else might be freezing the heart ; 

And each Hour shall be such a glorious 

hour. 

Its moments so precious and dear. 

That in breadth, and in depth, and in 

bliss-giving power. 

It may fairly be reckoned a year ! 



THE LAWYEE'S VALENTINE. 

I 'm notified, fair neighbor mine, 

By one of our profession, 
That this — the Term of Valentine — 

Is Cupid's Special Session. 

Termit me, therefore, to report 

Myself, on this occasion, 
Quite ready to proceed to Court, 

And File my Declaration. 

I've an Attachment for you, too; 
A legal and a strong one ; 



Oh, yield unto the Process, do; 
Nor let it be a long one ! 

No scowling bailiff lurks behind ; 

He 'd be a precious uoddy, 
Who, failing to Arrest the mind, 

Should go and Take the Body ! 

For though a form like yours might 
throw 

A sculptor in distraction ; 
I could n't serve a Capias, — no, 

I 'd scorn so base an action ! 

Oh, do not tell me of your youth, 

And turn away demurely ; 
For though you 're very young, in truth, 

You 're not an Infant surely ! 

The Case is everything to me ; 

My heart is love's own tissue ; 
Don't plead a Dilatory Plea; 

Let 's have the General Issue ! 

Or, since you've really no Defense, 
Why not, this present Session, 

Omitting all absurd pretense. 
Give judgment by Confession? 

So shall you be my lawful wife ; 

And I — your faithful lover — 
Be Tenant of your heart for Life, 

With no Remainder over ! 



A REASONABLE PETITION. 

You say, dearest girl, you esteem me. 

And hint of respectful regard, 
And I 'm certain it would n't beseem me, 

Such an excellent gift to discard. 
But even the Graces, j'ou '11 own. 

Would lose half their beauty apart ; 
And Esteem, when she stands all alone. 

Looks most unbecomingly tart. 
So grant me, dear girl, this petition : — 

If Esteem e'er again should come 
hither, 
Just to keep her in cheerful condition. 

Let Love come in company with her ! 



THE CHAPEL OF TWO SAINTS. 

In a famous Tuscan city 
Stands a chapel snug and small ; 



DRINKING SONG. 



Some old penitent's oblation, 
With a doable dedication, 
To St, Peter and St. Paul. 

To a soul so stoutly guarded 

What of evil could befall ? 
When was ever plan completer 
Without robbery of Peter, 

Paying thus his due to Paul? 

There it was I saw a lady, 

Very round and ripe and tall; 
Surely never face was sweeter 
Thau she turned upon St. Peter, 
After bowing to St. Paul. 

Long and ardently I worshiped, — 
Not the Saints, nor yet their Master, 

But my feminine ideal ; 

3fea culpa .' she was real 

riesh and blood, and they were plas- 
ter! 

Good St. Anfliony was tempted. 

Though a frii^id old divine 
(Showing saint-i are only human), 
But he never saw a woman 

Half so beautiful as mine ! 

Pardon then my bad behavior 

(Thus tipon the twain I call). 
As if you were in my case, 
And were asking sjiecial grace 
Of St. Peter and St. Paul 1 



THE LITTLE MAID AND THE 
LAWYER. 



Thbt say, little maid, quoth Lawyer 

Brown, 
I 'm the cleverest man in all the town. 

Heigh-ho! says she, 

What 's that to me ? 
But they say, little maid, quoth Lawyer 

Brown, 
You 're the prettiest girl in all the town. 

Says she, If they do. 

What 's that to you 1 



They say, little maid, quoth Lawyer 

Brown, 
I 'm the richest man in all the town. 



Heigh-ho ! says she, 

What 's that to me ? 
But they say, little maid, quoth Lawyer 

Brown, 
You ought to be dressed in a finer gown. 

Says she, If they do, 

What 's that to you 1 



They say, little maid, quoth Lawyer 

Brown, 
That Johnny Hodge is an awkward 
clown. 

Heigh-ho ! says she, 

What 's that to me 1 
But they say, little maid, the lawyer said, 
That you and Johnny are going to wed. 

Says she, If we do, 

What 's that to you ? 



DEINKING SONG. 

BY A TETOTALER. 

" Ex ipso fonte bibi." — Ovid. 

I 'VE been drinking, I 've been drink- 
ing, . 

To intoxication's edge ; 
Do not chide me ; for the tipple 

Was n't mentioned in the pledge. 

Nay, believe me, — 't was not Brandy 
Wrought the roses that you see ; 

One may get a finer crimson 
From a purer eau-de-vie. 

No, indeed ; it was not Claret 

(That were something overweak) ; 

There 's a vastly better vintage 
For the painting of a cheek. 

Not Angelica, — the honey 
By Loyola's children pressed 

From the Andalusian clusters 
Eipened in the Golden West ; 

Not Madeira, Hock, nor Sherry ; 

No, indeed, 't is none of these 
Makes me giddy in the forehead. 

Makes me tremble in the knees. 

No ; 't is not the Gallic " Widow " 
That has turned my foolish brain, 

Nor the wine of any vineyard 
Found in Germany or Spain. 



THE MAIDEN TO THE MOON. 



87 



Nay — I own it ! — 't is the nectar 
That a favored lover sips 

(All unheeding of the danger !) 
Erom a maiden's pulpy lips ! 

This it is that I 've been drinking 

To intoxication's edge • 
Till I marvel that the tipple 

Is n't mentioned in the pledge ! 

For the taste is so enchanting 

'T is impossible to see, 
Should it grow into a habit, 

What the consequence may be. 

Well, I'll heed the sage's lesson. 
Pleasant, though it prove in vain, 

And by drinking very largely 
Try to sober me again ! 



EGO ET ECHO. 



A FANTASY. 



I ASKED of Echo, 't other day 

(Whose words are few and often 
funny), 
What to a novice she could say 

Of courtship, love, and matrimony 1 
Quoth Echo, plainly : " Matter-o'- 
money ! 



Whom should I marry ? should it be 
A dashing damsel, gay and pert, — 

A pattern of inconsistency ; 
Or selfish, mercenary flirt ? 
Quoth Echo, sharply : " Nary flirt ! " 



What if, aweary of the strife 

That long has lured the dear de- 
ceiver, 
She promised to amend her life. 
And sin no more, can I believe her? 
Quoth echo, ver^' promptly : " Leave 
her ! " 



But if some maiden with a heart. 
On me should venture to bestow it : 

Pray, should I act the wiser part 
To take the treasure, or forego it ? 
Quoth Echo, with decision : " Go 
it I " 



Suppose a billet-doux (in rhyme), 
As warm as if Catullus penned it, 

Declare her beauty so sublime 

That Cytherea's can't transcend it, — 
Quoth echo, very clearly : " Send 
it I " 



But what if, seemingly afraid 

To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter. 

She vow she means to die a maid, — 
In answer to my loving letter ? 
Quoth Echo, rather coolly : " Let 
her!" 



What if, in spite of her disdain, 
I find my heart entwined about 

With Cupid's dear delicious chain. 
So closely that I can't get out 1 
Quoth Echo, laughingly : " Get 
out ! " 



But if some maid with beauty blest, 
As pure and fair as Heaven can make 
her, 

Will share my labor and my rest. 
Till envious Death shall overtake her "^ 
Quoth Echo (sotto voce) : " Take her I" 



THE MAIDEN TO THE MOON.* 

O MOON ! did you see 
My lover and me 
In the valley beneath the sycamore- 
tree? 
Whatever befell, 
O Moon ! don't tell; 
'T was nothing amiss, you know very 
well. 

O Moon ! you know, 

A long time ago 
You left the sky and descended below. 

Of a Summer's night, 

By your own sweet light. 
To meet your Endymion on Latmos 
height. 

And there, O Moon ! 
You gave him a boon. 
You would n't, I 'm sure, have granted 
at noon ; 



A SUMMER SCENE. 



'T was nothing amiss, 
Being only the bliss 
Of giving — and taking — an innocent 
kiss! 

Some churlish lout, 

Who was sp3"ing about, 
Went off and blabbed, and so it got out; 

But for all the gold 

The sea could hold, 
Moon ! / would n't have gone and 
told! 

So, Moon ! don't tell. 

Whatever befell 
My lover and me in the leafy dell ; 

He is honest and true, 

And, remember, too, 
We only behaved like your lover and 
you! 



DAISY DAY. 

A REMINISCENCE OF TKAVEL. 

It was in an Irish city. 

In the pleasant month of May, 
That I met the clever, pretty, 

Lively, lovely Daisy Day. 
Like myself, a transient ranger 

From Columbia's troubled shore, 
Could I deem her quite a stranger. 

Though we never met before ? 

Love of country — so despotic 

In our precious native land — 
Finds us doubly patriotic. 

Straying on a foreign strand ; 
Hence, perhaps, her friendly manner. 

And my pulse's quicker play, 
When, beneath St. Patrick's banner, 

I accosted Daisy Day, 

Bless me ! how all eyes were centred 

On her, when the parlor door 
Opened, and the lady entered 

Like a queen upon the floor ! 
'T was as if, that summer even. 

Some superlative perfume, 
Wafted by the breath of heaven. 

Suddenly had filled the room ! 

Happy favorite of Nature, 

Hebe in her sunny face, 
Juno in her queenly stature, 

More than Juno in her grace. 



Eyes befitting Beauty's goddess. 
Mouth to steal your heart away. 

Bust that strained her ample bodice, — 
Such was charming Daisy Day. 

Well, what then 1 Ah! Holy Mother! 

Pardon one pathetic sigh ; 
She 's the " partner " of another, 

And — I own it — So am I ! 
But a poet owes to Beauty 

More than common men can pay. 
And I 've done my simple duty. 

Singing thus of Daisy Day. 



A SUMMER SCENE. 

I SAW you, lately, at an hour 

To lovers reckoned dear 
For tender trysts ; and this is what 

I chanced to see and hear : 

You sat beneath the Summer moon, 

A friend on either hand. 
And one applauded your discourse, 

And one — could understand. 

You quoted gems of poesy 
By mighty masters wrought ; 

And one remarked the pleasant rhyme. 
And one, the golden thought. 

Your smiles (how equally bestowed !) 

Upon the list'ners fell ; 
And one was fain to praise your eyes, 

And one, to read them well. 

You jested in a merry vein. 

And, conscious, played the child; 

And one was moved to brave retort, 
And one, in silence, smiled. 

You spoke of angel-life above 

That evermore endures ; 
And one looked up, with lifted hands. 

And one — was kissing yours ! 

And then you laughed the ringing 
laugh 

That shows a spirit glad ; 
And one, thereat, was very gay. 

And one was something sad. 

And did you guess (ah ! need I ask ?) 
While thus they sat with you, 

That one was but a light gallant. 
And one a lover true 1 



EO W IT HAPPENED. 



89 



TO A BEAUTIFUL STRANGEE. 

A GLANCE, a smile, — I see it yet ! 

A moment ere the train was starting ; 
How strange to tell ! we scarcely met, 

And yet I felt a pang at parting. 

And you, (alas ! that all the while 
'T is / alone who am confessing !) 

What thought was lurking in your smile 
Is quite beyond my simple guessing. 

I only know those beaming rays 
Awoke in me a strange emotion, 

Which, basking in their warmer blaze, 
Perhaps might kindle to devotion. 

Ah ! many a heart as stanch as this, 
By smiling lips allured from Duty, 

Has sunk in Passion's dark abyss, — 
" Wrecked on the coral reefs of Beau- 
ty!" 

And so, 't is well the train's swift flight 
That bore away my charming stran- 
ger 
Took her — God bless her ! — out of 
sight, 
And me, as quickly, out of danger ! 



HERCULES SPINNING. 



Bond slave to Omphale, 

The haughty Lydian queen. 
Fond slave to Omphale, 

The beauteous Lydian queen, 
Lo ! Hercules is seen 
Spinning, spinning like a maid, 
While aside his club is laid. 
And the hero boasts no more 
All his doughty deeds of yore, 
But with sad, submissive mien 
Spinning, spinning still is seen, 
Bond slave to Omphale, 
Fond slave to Omphale, 
The haughty Lydian queen. 



Shame ! that for a woman's whim, 
He, so stout of heart and limb, 
Must his nature so abuse 
Thus his mighty arm to use, — 
Not the manly mace to whirl. 
But a tiny spindle twirl. 



Spinning, spinning like a girl, 

With a soft, submissive mien. 

Bond slave to Omphale, 

Fond slave to Omphale, 

The haughty Lydian queen. 



Fond slave to Omphale, — 

Bond slave no more ; 
Love has loosed whom Tyranny 

Basely bound before ! 
The distaff now is cast aside. 
And, leaning on his club in pride, 

Lo ! Hercules is seen 

In majesty serene, — 
A hero sitting by his bride. 

Fair Omphale, his queen ! 



Whatever mortals crave, 

So rule the gods above 
That manly Strength is Beauty's slave, 

And Beauty yields to Love. 



HOW IT HAPPENED. 

"Ah ! we love each other well. 
Better far than words can tell," 
Said my charmer ; " but in vain 
Are my efforts to explain 
How it happened. Tell me now. 
Dearest, of the wliii and how ! 
Since the fact we cannot doubt. 
Tell me how it came about." 

Well, my darling, I will try 
To explain the how and tuhy, 
(Speaking for mj'self, not you ; 
That, of course, I cannot do.) 

Not your brilliant mind alone 
Could have thus enthralled my own ; 
Not the charm of every grace 
Beaming from your sunny face ; 
Not your voice, though music be 
Less melodious to me ; 
Not your kisses, sweeter far 
Than the drops of Hybla are ; 
None of these, from each apart. 
Could have so enchained my heart ; 
Nay, not e'en the wondrous whole 
Could have fixed my wayward soul ; 
Had not love — your love — prevailed. 
All the rest had surely failed. 

There ! you have the reason, dear; 
Is the explanation clear 1 

Ah ! I own it seems but weak ; 
Half the why is yet to seek ; 



90 



THE LOVER'S CONFESSION. 



Only this I surely know, 
Never woman witched me so ! 
Happy let my charmer be. 
Since her eyes in mine may see 
Flashes of the hidden fire 
(Half devotion, half desire). 
And her ears may hear the sighs 
That from yearning love arise. 
Whispering, in the fondest tone, 
" Take me ! I am all your own ! ' 



EXAUDI ANGELUS. 

Hear thou my prayer, angel kind ! 

Who brought my gladdened eyes to 
see 
Hira whom so long I yearned to find. 

And gave his dear heart all to me ; 
O, guard him well, that I may prove 
Blest in my lover and my love. 

And keep thou her whose fearful breast 
Still trembles for its new-found joy 

(Knowing, ah me ! but little rest), 
Lest envious maids or gods destroy 

This wondrous happiness that seems 

Too bright for aught save angel dreams. 

O, bless us twain ! and kindly teach ; 

And safely guard each hallowed name 
From blighting hint or blasting speech 

To make our cheeks all red for shame, 
That blush not for the love they bear 
In thy pure presence, angel fair. 

And while, with lips that closer cling 
In dread to part, we say " Farewell ! " 

Keep thou this love a holy thing 
That in us evermore may dwell, 

By circling hearth or sundering sea. 

Where'er our thankful hearts may be ! 



CARL AND I. 

He calls me beautiful; and I 
Ask of my glass the reason why ; 

Alack for me ! 
And yet though little there I see, 
I must be beautiful, I trow, 
When such as he can deem me so. 

He calls me brilliant ; all in vain 
I strive the wonder to explain; 
Alack for me ! 



And yet, whate'er my fancy be. 
Some spark of wit therein must glow 
When such as he can think it so. 

He calls me noble ; and I turn 
My soul within my soul to learn ; 

Alack for me ! 
I am not proud of what I see ; 
And yet some goodness there must 

grow. 
When such as he can find it so. 

He calls me lovely ; and I try 
To seek the specious reason why ; 

Alack for me ! 
And yet though vain my question be, 
I must be lovely — well I know — 
When such as he can love me so ! 



DO I LOVE THEE? 



Do I love thee 1 Ask the bee 
If she loves the flowery lea 
Where the honeysuckle blows 
And the fragrant clover grows. 
As she answers, Yes or No, 
Darling ! take my answer so. 

Do I love thee 1 Ask the bird 
When her matin song is heard, 
If she loves the sky so fair, 
Fleecy cloud and liquid air. 
As she answers. Yes or No, 
Darling ! take my answer so. 

Do I love thee ? Ask the flower 
If she loves the vernal shower, 
Or the kisses of the sun. 
Or the dew, when day is done. 
As she answers, Yes or No, 
Darling ! take my answer so. 



THE LOVER'S CONFESSION. 

" Come, name my fault ! " I said, " that 1 
May mend it." So I made*reply 
To Laura, darling of my heart. 
Whom long, in vain, by every art 
I tried to force to franker speech. 
" Do tell me plainly, I beseech, 
For my soul's sake, that while I live 
I may repent and Heaven forgive ! " 



CHORUS OF THE DRYADS. 



91 



" 'T is worldliness ! " at last she said, 
And, blushing, drooped her lovely 

head. 
As if she feared I might infer 
She meant forgetfulness of her. 
" And is that all ?" I answered. " Well, 
I own the world's enchanting spell ; 
The fault is one I cannot hide ; 
But ah ! 't is not for you to chide ; 
Still, dearest, let me worldly be. 
Since you are ' all the world ' to me ! " 



A PHILOSOPHICAL QUERY. 



If Virtue be measured by what we re- 
sist. 
When against Inclination we strive. 
You and I have been proved, we may 
fairly insist. 
The most virtuous mortals alive ! 
Now Virtue, we know, is the brightest 
of pearls. 
But as Pleasure is hard of evasion, 



Should we envy, or pity, the stoical 
churls 
Who never have known a temptation 1 



LIP-SEEVICE. 



Julia once and once again. 

In coquettish fashion, 
Heedless of her lover's pain. 

Mocked his burning passion ; 
" Words of worship lightly fall 

Prom a courtier, surely ; 
Mere lip-service, — that is all ! '\ 

Said the maid, demurely. 



Then his kisses fell like dew 

(Just where Love would choose 'em) 
On her mouth ; and through and through 

Thrilled her glowing bosom ; 
Till she felt — nor uttered she 

Whisper of negation — 
" Mere lip-service " still may be 

Perfect adoration ! 



LEISUEE-DAT EHTMES. 



CHORUS OF THE DRYADS. 



FIRST DRYAD. 

Who are these who come again 
Strolling in our dark domain ? 

SECOND DRTAD. 

Lovers, if I guess aright ; 
And I saw them yesternight. 
Sitting by yon chestnut-tree ; 
And I marveled much to see 
All I saw ; and more to hear 
All that fell — 

FIRST DRTAD. 

Now, tell me, dear, 
What it means, — that wondrous word 



Which so oft I plainly heard 
(As, unseen, I watched above) ; 
Tell me truly what is "love," — 
What of pleasure it may bring, 
Since it seemed so sweet a thing ; 
What therein may lurk of pain. 
Since, anon, they sighed again ; 
What of shame, that with a blush 
She, the trembler, whispered, "Hush !" 
(As assailed with sudden fear.) 
" Darling ! don't the Dryads hear 1 " 

THIRD DRTAD. 

True as truth ! It chanced that I, 
Sleeping on a branch anigh. 
Heard it all ; for I awoke 
When their words the silence broke. 
Faith ! the lover answered well : 
" Sweet ! the Dryads never tell ! " 



92 



HERE AND HEREAFTER. 



FIRST DRYAD. 

Pan ! I own the matter seems 
Queer as aught we see in dreams ; 
Tell me plainly (older you ; 
And — it follows — wiser too !) 
All about it ; I would know 
What it is can witch them so ! 

THIRD DRYAD. 

Nay, — I know not. All I learn 
These good eyes and ears discern. 
For the rest, — beyond my ken 
Are the ways of mortal men ; 
And for love, — if it contain 
More of pleasure or of pain, 
All my wits hare brought about 
Only this, — that still I doubt ! 

SECOND DRYAD. 

Strange the awful oaths I heard 
Following many a tender word 
That from either smoothly slips 
Through their seldom-severed lips, 
In the little pauses when 
They were free to speak again. 
Yet I learn from such as you, 
(Tell me plainly, is it true ?) 
That whate'er of bliss it bring. 
Love is but a slippery thing ; 
That, with mortal men and maids, 
Kisses fail when beauty fades ; 
And this Love, with scarce a sigh. 
Dies when Youth and Pleasure die ! 

THIRD DRYAD. 

Nay, — I know not. Well content 
With the good the gods have lent 
To our higher, happier kind, 
Little, sooth ! am I inclined 
All the miseries to trace 
That afflict the human race. 
Safe amid our leafy bowers. 
Sweetly flow the rosy hours. 
While in friendship's calm estate, 
Free from love, as free from hate. 
Here our happy lives are passed, 
Clear of passion — 

FO0RTH DRYAD. 

Not so fast ! 
/ have heard the tale, you see. 
Of Pan and wanton Dryope ; 



And hapless Syrinx, who, indeed, 
To 'scape his love became a reed 
Most musical of tender woe. 
Ah ! which of us can surely know 
That she is safe "? For me, I own 
Some homage to this god unknown 
Whose wondrous potency controls 
Both mortal and immortal souls. 
His smile I crave ; his frown I fear ; 
So, be all lovers welcome here ! 
May fragrant flowers a carpet spread 
Whereon their feet may softly tread ; 
May every tall, majestic tree, 
To guard their tryst, a fortress be ; 
And every nymph that views the scene 
Hold in her hand a leafy screen 
To form a dense o'erarching roof 
The blabbing moon to keep aloof ; 
And not a Dryad ever tell 
The secret that she knows so well ! 



HEEE AND HEEEAFTER, 

" Say, what shall I believe 1 " my 

neighbor said 
Late yesternight, when light discourse 

had led 
To graver themes. " For me, I stand 

perplexed. 
While fierce polemics each upon his 

text 
Of Scriptural foundation builds his 

creed, 
And cries, ' Lo ! here is Truth ! the 

Truth ! ' I need 
Some surer way than theologians teach 
In dogmas of the sects." I answered, 

"Each 
Must do his own believing. As for me. 
My creed is short as any man's may be ; 
'T is written in ' The Sermon on the 

Mount,' 
And in the ' Pater-Noster ' ; I account 
The words 'Our Father' (had we lost 

the rest 
Of that sweet prayer, the briefest and 

the best 
In all the liturgies) of higher worth. 
To ailing souls, than all the creeds on 

earth. 
A Father loves his children — that I 

know — 
And fain would make them happy. 

Even so 
Our Heavenly Father — as we clearly 

learn 



HERE AND HEREAFTER. 



From his dear Word, and dimly may- 
discern 
From his fair Works — for us, his 

children, weak 
To walk unhelped, and little prone to 

seek 
la all our ways what best deserves his 

smile 
Of approbation, careth all the while 
With love ineffable. 'T is little more 
Of his designs I venture to explore 
Save with the eye of Faith. With that 

I see 
(Aided by Reason's glasses) what may 

be 
Hereafter, in that ' Coming Kingdom ' 

when 
The King shall justify his ways with 

men 
On earth." 

"And what," my doubting friend in- 
quired, 
" Shall be our destiny 1 " 

" No tongue inspired 
Hath plainly told us that. I cannot 

tell — 
It is not given to know — where we 

shall dwell ; 
I only know — and humbly leave the 

rest 
To Wisdom Infinite — that what is 

best 
For each will be his place ; that we shall 

wear 
In the Beyond the character we bear 
In passing; with what meliorating 

change 
Of mind and soul, within the endless 

range 
Of their activities, I cannot tell. 
I know ' Our Father' doeth all things 

well, 
And loves and changes not." 

" Alas ! we know 
The earth is rife with unavailing 

woe ! " 
My friend made answer. " How can 

such things be ? 
The Father being perfect we should 

see 
His government the same " — 

" Would he not err, — 
The hasty judge, — who, having seen 

the stir 
In the first Act of some well-ordered 

play, 
Should cry, ' Preposterous ! ' and go 

away 



And criticise the whole (four Acts un- 
seen !) 

As ill-contrived, inconsequent, and 
mean ! " 

" Something germane to this," my 

daughter said, 
" In an old Jewish tale I lately read : 
To pious Bildad, deeply mourning one 
Whom he had deeply loved, — his only 

son, — 
Who of the plague had died that very 

day. 
Came his friend Amos, saying, 'Tell 

me, pray. 
What grief is this that bows thy 

reverend head 1 ' 
The mourner answered, pointing to the 

bed 
Whereon was laid the body of the 

youth, 
' Behold, my friend, the cause ! good 

cause, in sooth. 
For one to weep, who sees his hopes 

decay, — 
The work of years all blasted in a 

day. 
As there thou seest ! ' Amos, answer- 
ing, said, 
' 'T is true, indeed, thine only son is 

dead ; 
And as thy love even so thy grief is 

great ; 
But tell me, friend, doth not thy faith 

abate 
In some degree " the sharpness of thy 

pain ? ' 
' Alas ! ' said Bildad, ' how can I refrain 
From these despairing tears, when thus 

I find 
My anxious care to cultivate the mind. 
The wondrous gifts and graces of my 

son. 
Untimely doomed to death, is all un- 
done ? ' 
To iched by his sorrow, Amos sat awhile 
In .silent thought ; then, with a beaming 

smile, 
As one who offers manifest relief, 
He said, ' O Bildad ! let it soothe thy 

grief, 
That He who gave the talents thou hast 

sought 
To cherish, and by culture wouldst 

have wrong! it 
To highest excellence in this thy son. 
Will surely finish what thou hast be- 
gun ! ' " 



94 



ESSE QUAM VIDERI. 



MY BOOKS. 

Ah ! well I love these books of mine, 

That stand so trimly on their shelves, 
With here and there a broken line 

(Fat " quartos " jostling modest 
"twelves"), — 
A curious company, I own ; 

The poorest ranking with their bet- 
ters: 
In brief, — a thing almost unknown, — 

A Pure Democracy of Letters. 

A motley gathering are they, — 

Some fairly worth their weight in 
gold ; 
Some just too good to throw away; 
Some scarcely worth the place they 
hold. 
Yet well I love them, one and all, — 
These friends so meek and unobtru- 
sive. 
Who never fail to come at call, 
Nor (if I scold them) turn abusive ! 

If I have favorites here and there, 

And, like a monarch, pick and choose, 
I never meet an angry stare 

That this I take and that refuse ; 
No discords rise my soul to vex 

Among these peaceful book -rela- 
tions, 
Nor envious strife of age or sex 

To mar my quiet lucubrations. 

And they have still another merit, 

Which otherwhere one vainly seeks, 
Whate'er may be an author's spirit. 

He never uninvited speaks ; 
And should he prove a fool or clown, 

Unworth the precious time you 're 
spending, 
How quickly you can " put him down," 

Or " shut him up," without offending ! 

Here — pleasing sight ! — the touchy 
brood 
Of critics from dissension cease ; 
And — stranger still ! — no more at 
feud. 
Polemics smile, and keep the peace. 
See ! side by side, all free from strife 
(Save what the heavy page may 
smother). 
The gentle " Christians " who in life, 
For conscience' sake, had burned 
each other ! 



I call them friends, these quiet books ; 

And well the title they may claim, 
Who always give me cheerful looks ; 

(What living friend has done the 
same ? ) 
And, for companionship, how few. 

As these, my cronies ever present, 
Of all the friends I ever knew 

Have been so useful and so pleasant ? 



ESSE QUAM VIDERI. 

" To he, not seem ! " — the phrase is 
old, 

And looks heroic, 't is confessed ; 
And yet, for all its gloss of gold, 

'T will scarcely stand the final test; 
For, in effect, full many a truth 
Is in the seeming, not the sooth. 

Be false, then 1 No ! — let Truth appear 

In her own guise, if so it be 
Her words are such as men may hear 

Unhurt, and such as harm not thee ; 
But guard thy seeming, nor reveal 
The fault that silence would conceal. 

" Open and honest ! " sayest thou : 
" Why to my neighbor not make 
known 

All ugly soul-spots I avow 

To my own conscience as my own ; 

Plain as the freckles he may trace. 

Unasked, upon my hand or face ? " 

I answer thus : The Mighty One 
Who made thy best, immortal part. 

Made it invisible, that none 

May see thy mind or read thy heart, 

Save as thou wilt ; else were thy soul 

In others',- not thine own, control. 

'T is well that God alone can see 

The hearts of men that He has made 

Within their breasts ; since only he 
With their infirmities has weighed 

Their sins, — to human f railtj' j ust, 

Knowing full well we are but dust. 

And as we hide, for very shame. 

With garments cunning Art doth 
lend, 

Whatever of our fleshly frame, 
Undraped, would mortal eyes offend 

(While to the Maker, ne'er the less. 

His power and wisdom we confess) ; 



TO A CITY COUSIN ABOUT TO BE MARRIED. 



95 



So let our souls — which, all unclad, 
Though fair as souls on earth may be, 

Were still a sight to make men sad. 
Unmeet for human eyes to see — 

In modest drapery conceal 

The faults 't were shameful to reveal. 

Nay, as, with no unlawful arts. 

We deck our forms to make them 
fair. 

Who shall aver our wayward hearts 
May not receive an equal care. 

That, like our bodies, they may be 

In seemly plight for company ? 



THE DEAD LETTER. 

And can it be ? Ah, yes, I see, 

'T is thirty years and better 
Since Mary Morgan sent tjo me 

This musty, musky letter. 
A pretty hand (she could n't spell), 

As any man must vote it; 
And 't was, as I remember well, 

A pretty hand that wrote it ! 

How calmly now I view it all, 

As memory backward ranges, — 
The talks, the walks, that I recall, 

And then — the postal changes ! 
How well I loved her I can guess 

(Since cash is Cupid's hostage), — 
Just one-and-sixpence — nothing less — 

This letter cost in postage ! 

The love that wrote at such a rate 

(By Jove ! it was a steep one !) 
Five hundred notes (I calculate) 

Was certainly a deep one ; 
And yet it died — of slow decline — 

Perhaps suspicion chilled ip ; 
I 've quite forgotten if 't was mine 

Or Mary's ilirting killed it. 

At last the fatal message came : 

" My letters, — please return them ; 
And yours — of course you wish the 
same — 

I '11 send them back or burn them." 
Two precious fools, I must allow, 

Whichever was the greater : 
I wonder if I 'm wiser now, 

Some seven lustres later "? 

And this alone remains ! Ah, well! 
These words of warm affection. 



The faded ink, the pungent smell. 
Are food for deep reflection. 

They tell of how the heart contrives 
To change with fancy's fashion, 

And how a drop of musk survives 
The strongest human passion ! 



TO A CITY COUSIN ABOUT 
BE MARRIED. 

(s. B.) 



TO 



Is it true, what they tell me, my beauti- 
ful cousin, 
You are going to be married ? — have 
settled the day ? 
That the cards are all printed ? — the 
wedding-dress chosen ? — 
And everything fixed for an evening 
in May ? 
Ah — well ! — just imagine, — had / 
been a Turk, 
And you — but, no matter, — 't is idle 
to whine ; 
In the purest of bosoms some envy may 
lurk. 
And I feel a little (I own it !) in mine ! 

'Tis over ! — the struggle was but for a 
minute ; 
And now let me give you, dear cous- 
in, I pray, 
A word of advice, — if there 's anything 
in it. 
Accept it; if not, you can throw it 
away. 
An excellent maxim is " crede exper- 
to " ,• 
Which means (since your Latin I ven- 
ture to doubt) 
For practical wisdom 't is best to refer 
to 
A teacher who knows what he 's talk- 
ing about. 

C'est moi ! I 've been married this many 
a year ; 
And know rather more than a bach- 
elor can. 

And more — I suppose it is equally 
clear — 
Than a very young wife or a new- mar- 
ried man. 

Of course there 'U be matters to woriy 
and vex, 



96 



PARTING WORDS. 



But woman is mighty, and Patience 

endures ; 
And' ours — recollect — is the (much) 

" softer sex," 
Though we (not very gallantly) say 

it of yours ! 

The strong should be merciful ! Wom- 
an we find, 
Though weaker in body, surpassing 
us still 
In virtue; and strong — very strong in 
her mind, 
(When she knows what it is! ) — not 
to mention her will. 
Be gentle ! How hard you will find it 
to bear 
When your husband is wrong ; and as 
difficult, quite, 
In the other contingency, — not at all 
rare, — 
When you 're forced, in your heart, to 
confess he was right ! 

Be careful of trifles : a maxim of 
weight 
In questions affecting the heart or the 
head; 
Id wedlock, consider how often the 
fate 
Of the gravest affairs may depend on 
a thread. 
On a button perhaps ! Ah ! the " conju- 
gal tie " 
Should never be strained to its ulti- 
mate test ; 
Full many a matron has found, with a 
sigh, 
That the fixture was barely a button, 
at best ! 

A truce to our jesting. While friends 
by the dozen 
Their kind gratulations are fain to 
employ ; 
None more than your poet — your mirth- 
loving cousin — 
Puts his heart in the words while he 's 
" wishing you joy." 
Quite through to its close may your con- 
jugal life 
Maintain the impressions with which 
it began ; 
The women still saying, " I envy the 
wife," 
And husbands exclaiming, " I envy 

the man ! " 
May 25, 1870. 



HOW TO WOO AND WIN. 

Would you play the manly lover 
(Said a graybeard to his son), 

List, my lad, while I discover 
How a maiden should be won. 

Woo her not with boastful phrases, 
Lest you teach her lip to sneer ; 

Still a suitor's warmest praises 
In his conduct should appear. 

Woo her not with senseless sighing; ■ 
Maidens love a laughing eye : 

Tell her not that you are " dying," 
Lest she, mocking, bid you die ! 

Woo her not with weakly whining 

O'er your poverty of pelf, 
Lest she answer by declining 

Both your sorrows and yourself ! 

Woo her with a manly wooing ; 

Giving hostages to Fate, 
All the heart's devotion showing 

By its strength to work and wait. 

Woo her not with idle prattle 

Whom you fain would make your 
wife ; 
But with proof that in life's battle 

You are equal to the strife. 

Like the knight whose simple suing 
Won the lady (saj-s the tale), 

When, despite their word}'' wooing, 
All the rest were doomed to fail : — 

"Lady!" quoth the bold Knight Er- 
rant, 

" Brief the story I shall tell : 
I would wed thee ; here 's the warrant 

I shall love and serve thee well 1 " 

And, behold ! his dexter fingers 
Crush a horse-shoe, like a reed ! 

And within her lap tliere lingers 
All the gold the twain can need ! 



PAETING WORDS. 

Farewell ! Howe'er it fare with me, 
(But God is good !) I pray for thee 
Such peace as Heaven may grant to one 
Who, basking in the summer sun 



THE DUKE'S STRATAGEM. 



97 



Of pleasure, for life's nobler part 
Bears evermore a wintry lieart. 

And if I lose wliat could not last, 
With little grief that all is past, 
For me, I deem my sin was small : 
No broken pledges I recall ; 
No shaken constancy ; no word 
Of faith, save what might be inferred 
From lips that did but warmly kiss, 
Or speak, no other sense than tliis, — 
That thou wert beautiful, and seemed 
The bright ideal I had dreamed 
My kind, but somewhat tardy, Fate 
Would send, one day, to be my mate. 
And, for a while, I looked to thee, 
With fond expectancy, to see 
(As suited with thy handsome face. 
Fair to excess !) the inward grace. 
The noble soul, the brilliant mind, 
That form the flower of womankind. 
The proverb says, " We live and 
learn " ; 
And so it came that I discern 
(Since now I read thee, through and 

tlirough. 
With eyes somewhat love - blinded, 

too!) 
A nature shallow, fickle, cold ; 
A judgment weak, yet over-bold ; 
A heart that yearns, when passion- 
moved. 
To love 1 No ! — only to be loved ! 
And yet receives the precious store,. 
Unconscious of the costly ore, 
As an unthinking child might cry 
For diamonds flashing in its eye. 
Whom bits of glass had pleased as 
well! 
I thank the Fate who broke tlie spell ; 
I thank thee for the petty spite, 
Tliat for a small, imagined slight, 
(Though graver sins had passed un- 
seen ! ) 
At last dethroned my Fancy's queen. 
And left me musing how a face 
Which once had worn so sweet a grace 
Could, in a moment, (wondrous change !) 
Its warmest worshiper estrange ! 



MISERERE DOMINE ! 

A HYMN. 

Have pity. Lord ! — we hrtmbly cry, 
Witli trembling voice, and tearful eye : 
Thou know'st our ignorance and sin, 

7 



And what by grace we might have 

been ; 
All — all is known, Lord, to thee ; 
Miserere JDomine '. 

Our public walks and private ways; 
The follies of our youthful days ; 
Our manhood's errors, — every stain 
Of lust ami pride to thee are j^laiu ; 
For who, Lord ! can hide from thee ? 
Miserere Domine J 

Too late we mourn our wasted hours. 
Neglected gifts, perverted powers ; 
Affections warm, of heavenly birth. 
Lavished, alas ! on toys of earth : 
How far estranged, O Lord, from theo ! 
Miserere Domine ! 

How oft, O Lord ! things bright and 

fair 
To human sight, are but a snare ; 
A gilded bait to lure the soul 
Within the subtle Fiend's control : 
But there is refuge. Lord, in thee ! 

Miserere Domine ! 

Oh, let us never feel in vain 

From thy dear hand the warning pain ; 

The Father's stripes upon us laid 

In mercy, for thy children's aid : 

Teach us in all thy hand to see : 

Miserere Domine ! 

" Our Father ! " thou dost bid us pray ; 
As children who are prone to stray 
In devious paths, whence we retreat 
With garments torn and bleeding feet; 
Our Father ! let m fly to thee : 

Miserere Domine ! 

OuK Father ! ever-blesse'd name ! 
To thee we bring our sin and shame ; . 
Weak though we be, perverse of will. 
Thou art our gracious Father still. 
Who knowest well how frail we be. 

Miserere Domine ! 



THE DUKE'S STRATAGEM. 

A MILANESE TALE. 

The Duke of Milan — Galeazzo 

named — 
Supremely loved Correggia, widely 

famed 



98 



TEMPORA MUTANTUR. 



For every charm a maiden might pos- 
sess ; 
And, in lier heart, she loved the Duke 

no less ; 
Though each, awhile (so churlish Fate 

designed 
To mar their bliss) knew not the other's 

mind, 
But hoped and feared in silence; till, 

at last, 
When many a moon of trembling doubt 

was passed, 
And Gossip vainly had essayed to 

seek 
The cause of Galeazzo's pallid cheek 
And moody air, some ladies of the Court 
Addressed him boldly thus (as half in 

sport 
And half in earnest) : " Sire ! we all 

can see 
Your Highness is in love ! — and now, 

that we 
May pay our loyal service where the 

same 
Is justly due, we fain would know the 

name 
Of her, — the happy lady of your 

choice ! " 
Surprised, abashed, the Duke, with fal- 
tering voice. 
In civil sort such merry answers made, 
As best might serve the question to 

evade. 
In vain ! as one by one their weapons 

fail. 
With fresh artillery they the Duke as- 
sail, 
Until, at length, 't is clear the man must 

yield. 
By clamor overpowered, — or fly the 

field ! 
" A truce, — a truce ! " he cried, " for 

mercy's sake ! 
Now, please you all ! a banquet I will 

make. 
Such as may suit so fair a company : 
Come, one and all, and see what you 

shall see, 
To aid — perchance to end — your 

merry quest." 
And all said " Aye ! " — Correggia with 

the rest. 
The banquet over, Galeazzo set 
Upon the board a curious cabinet 
In which, upon a panel, was portrayed, 
In hapjiiest art, the picture of a maid 
(Some clever painter's). "There!" 

said he. 



All ye who choose, my lady-love may 

see ! " 
Now, Avhen the fair Correggia — lin- 
gering last. 
For tearfulness — observed that all who 

passed 
The pictured girl, in silence turned 

away 
As from a face unknown, — in deep 

dismay 
She took her turn to gaze ; when God 

of Grace ! 
She saw no painted image, but the face 
Which her own features, radiantly fair. 
Reflected, blushing, in a mirror there ! 
And so it was the two true loves were 

known ; 
And so it came to pass that not alone 
The happy Galeazzo filled the ducal 

throne ! 



TEMPORA MUTANTUR. 

" The times are changed ! " long, long 
ago, 

A Roman graybeard sighed ; 
" And still, as seasons wax and wane, 

We change with time and tide." 
And I (alas ! that I must own 

My locks are growing scanter !) 
In pensive retrospect repeat, 

tempora mutantur ! 

Where now are all the village belles 

1 sonneteered of yore ? 

Gone, — with the fashion of the boots 
And bonnets which they wore ; 

Their dimpled cheeks are wrinkled now, 
And Time — the Disenchanter ! 

Has dimmed the eyes that dazzled 
mine, — 
tempora mutantur ! 

Oh how we raved of constancy, 

Melinda May and I ! 
I 've quite forgotten which was first 

To break the tender tie ; 
I know that I survived the shock, 

(Though sworn to die instanter!) 
And 'Linda lived — to love again, — 

tempora mutantur ! 

Good Dr. Proser, where is he ? 

Whose logic clear and strong 
The vestry praised, — nor ever deemed 

The sermon over-long. 



"JUSTINE, YOU LOJ^ ME NOT!' 



99 



Uutil they healed, and quite preferred 
The Eeverend Rousing Ranter ; 

To whom succeeded Parson Prim, — 
tempora mutaniur I 

Yes, times are changed ; but one can dine, 

And Mag 's the best of cooks. 
" No dinner ? " John ! " Sir, if you 
please, 

Mag 's gone to ' go for Snooks ' ! " 
And wife ? " She 's gone along with 
Mag." 

John ! bring me that decanter ! — 
By Jove ! I 'U go and vote for Jones ! 

tempora mutantur ! 



A CHARMING WOMAN. 

A CHARMING woman, I 've heard it said 

By other women as light as she ; 
Bat all in vain I puzzle my head 

To find wherein the charm may be. 
Her face, indeed, is pretty enough. 

And her form is quite as good as 
the best. 
Where Nature has given the bony stuff. 

And a clever milliner all the rest. 

Intelligent 1 Yes, — in a certain way ; 
With a feminine gift of ready speech ; 
And knows very well what not to say 
Whenever the theme transcends her 
reach. 
But turn the topic on things to wear, 
From an opera cloak to a robe de 
niiit, — 
Hats, basques, or bonnets, — 't will 
make you stare 
To see how fluent the lady can be ! 

Her laugh is hardly a thing to please ; 

For an honest laugh must always 
start 
From a.gleesome mood, like a sudden 
breeze, 

And hers is purely a matter of art, — 
A muscular motion made to show 

Wliat Nature designed to lie beneath 
The finer mouth ; but what can she do, 

If thai is ruined to show tlie teeth 1 

To her seat in church — a good half- 
mile — 

When the day is fine she is sure to go. 
Arrayed, of course, in the latest style 

La mode de Paris has got to show ; 



And she puts her hands on the velvet 
pew 
(Can hands so Avhite have a taint of 
sin 1 ) 
And thinks — how her prayer-book's 
tint of blue 
Must harmonize with her milky skin ! 

Ah ! what shall we say of one who walks 
In fields of flowers to choose the 
weeds ? 
Reads authors of whom she never 
talks, 
And talks of authors she never reads ? 
She 's a charming woman, I 've heard 
it said 
By other women as light as she ; 
But all in vain I puzzle my head 
To find wherein the charm may be. 



"JUSTINE, YOU LOVE ME 
NOT ! " 

" H^las ! vous ne m'aimez pas." — PiRON. 

I KNOW, Justine, you speak me fair 

As often as we meet ; 
And 't is a luxury, I swear, 

To hear a voice so sweet ; 
And yet it does not please me quite, 

The civil way you 've got ; 
For me you 're something too polite, — 

Justine, you love me not ! 

I know, Justine, you never scold 

At aught that I may do : 
If I am passionate or cold, 

'T is all the same to you. 
"A charming temper," say the men, 

" To smooth a husband's lot " : 
I wish 't were ruffled now and then, — 

Justine, you love me not ! 

I know, Justine, you wear a smile 

As beaming as the sun ; 
But who supposes all the while 

It shines for only one ? 
Though azure skies are fair to see, 

A transient cloudy spot 
In yours would promise more to me, — 

Justine, you love me not ! 

I know, Justine, you make my name 

Your eulogistic theme, 
And say — if any chance to blame — 

You hold me in esteem. 



100 



LOVE AND MONEY. 



Such words, for all their kindly scope, 

Delight me not a jot ; 
Just so you would have praised the 
Pope, — 

Justine, you love me not ! 

I know, Justine, for I have heard 

What friendly voices tell, — 
You do not blush to say the word, 

" You like me passing well " ; 
And thus the fatal sound I hear 

That seals my lonely lot : 
There 's nothing now to hope or fear, — 

Justine, you love me not ! 



"BE GOOD TO YOURSELF." 

" GooD-BY ! good-by ! " the driver said, 
As the coach went off in a whirl 

(And the coachman bowed his hand- 
some head) ; 
" Be good to yourself', — my girl ! " 

Ah ! many a fond good-by I 've heard, 
From many an aching heart ; 

And many a friendly farewell word, 
When strangers came to part ; 

And I 've heard a thousand merry 
quips. 

And many a senseless joke, 
And many a fervent prayer from lips 

That all a-tremble spoke ; 

And many a bit of good advice 
In smooth proverbial phrase ; 

And many a wish — of little price — 
For health and happy days : 

But musing how the human soul 
(Whate'er the Fates may will) 

Still measures by its self-control 
Its greatest good or ill, — 

Of benedictions, I protest, 

'Mid many a shining pearl, 
I like the merry coachman's best, — 

" Be good to yourself, — my girl ! " 



TO A BACHELOR FRIEND IN 
THE COUNTRY. 

Come and see us, any day ; 
With his choicest mercies 



Heaven has showered my rugged way. 

Plenty — as my verses. 
Share my home, lonely elf. 

Cosiest of houses 
Wisely ordered, like myself ! 

By the best of spouses. 

Though 't is small upon the ground, 

I may fairly mention 
Toward the sky it will be found 

Of sublime extension. 
Narrow is a city -lot. 

When you 've truly said it ; 
But the " stories " we have got 

You would scarcely credit ! 

Though the stairs are something tall. 

You have but to clamber 
Up the fourth ; " upon the wall 

Is the Prophet's chamber." 
Thence my garden you may vieWj 

Kept with costly labor, 
Specially for me and you, 

By my wealthy neighbor. 

Books, you hardly need be told — '\ 

Wait your welcome coming ; 
Some I warrant — ^ mainly old — 

Worthy of your thumbing. 
For the rest, I only swear. 

Though they 're rather I'ecent, 
You will iind the printing fair. 

And the binding decent. 

Breakfast 1 — Mutton-chops at eight 

(Cook will do them nicely). 
Dinner ? — What you choose to state, 

Served at two precisely. 
Bed ? — Delicious (not a few 

Were the swans who lined it) 
As a bachelor, like you. 

Could expect to find it ! 



LOVE AND MONEY. 

A HOMILY. 

Of course, my dear Charley, I hold. 

As a poet and moralist should. 
That love is far better than gold 

(Though gold is undoubtedly good) ; 
And yet, as the proverb declares, 

I fear me the doctrine is true,. 
That in managing human alFairs, 

"L'amour fait beaucoup ; Vargent fail 
tout!" 



PART OF AN AFTER-DINNER SPEECH. 



101 



You wish — for example — to win 

A proper companion for life, 
(At forty 't is time to begin !) 

And so you go courting a wife ; 
You offer your heart and your purse, 

But much as affection may do, 
There 's meaning, no doubt, in the verse, 

"U amour fait beaucoup ; I'argent fait 
tout ! " 

You purchase an elegant house, 

As an opulent gentleman ought ; 
And you and your beautiful spouse 

By people of Fashion are sought : 
But when you remember the way 

" Society " chooses her few. 
Perhaps you may sigh as you say, 

"L'amour fait beaucoup ; I'argent fait 
tout ! " 

In conjugal matters as well 

As those of a worldlier sort, 
What virtue in money may dwell 

Were worthy a sage's report ; 
You 're honored — Oh, not for your pelf ; 

But, taking the rosiest view. 
Do you think it is all for yourself ? 

"L'amour fait beaucoup ; I'argent fait 
tout .' '" 

Oh, love is a beautiful thing, 

A passion of heavenly birth ; 
But money 's a tyrannous king. 

The mightiest monarch on earth ; 
And, in managing human affairs, 

I fear me the doctrine is true. 
As the old Gallic proverb declares, 

"L'amour fait beaucoup ; I'argent fait 
tout ! " 



ODE. 



ON OCCASION OF THE UNVEILING OF 
THE BUST OF JOHN HOWARD PAYNE, 
IN PROSPECT PARK, RROOKLYN, N. T., 
SEPTEMBER 27, 1873. 

To him who sang of " Home, sweet 
Home," 

In strains so sweet the simple lay 
Has thrilled a million hearts, we come 

A nation's grateful debt to pay. 
Yet not for him the bust we raise ; 

Ah no ! can lifeless lips prolong 
Fame's trumpet voice? The poet's 
praise 

Lives in the music of his song ! 



The noble dead we fondly seek 

To honor with applauding breath : 
Unheeded fall the words we speak 

Upon " the dull, cold ear of death." 
Yet not in vain the spoken word. 

Nor vain the monument we raise ; 
With quicker throbs our hearts are 
stirred 

To catch the nobleness we praise ! 

Columbia's sons, — we share his fame ; 

'T is for ourselves the bust we rear, 
That they who mark the graven name 

May know that name to us is dear ; 
Dear as the home the exile sees, — 

The fairest spot beneath the sky, — 
Where first — upon a mother's knees — 

He slept, and where he yearns to 
die. 

But not alone the lyric fire 

Was his ; the Drama's muse can tell 
His genius could a Kean inspire ; 

A Kemble owned his magic spell; 
A Kean, to "Brutus'" self so true 

(As true to Art and Nature's laws). 
He seemed the man the poet drew. 

And shared with him the town's ap- 
plause. 

Kind hearts and brave, with truth severe, 

He drew, unconscious, from his own ; 
O nature rare ! But pilgrims here 

Will oft'nest say, in pensive tone. 
With reverent face and lifted hand, 

" 'T was he — by Fortune forced to 
roam — 
Who, homeless in a foreign land, 

So sweetly sang the joys of home ! " 



PART OF AN AFTEK-DINNER 
SPEECH. 

SPOKEN AT THE FESTIVAL OF THE 
41ST ANNUAL CONVENTION OF i'l 
Tf'IAON AT DELMONICO'S, NEW 
YORK, APRIL 8, 1874. 

Dear Brothers : I 'm something un- 
happy. I heard 

Such abuse, t' other day, of an innocent 
word 

It roused all the wrath of the mildest of 
men 

To a height as colossal, I fancy, as when 

A former occasion provoked the inquiry 



102 



PART OF AN AFTER DINNER SPEECH. 



In the mind of the Mantuan, " Tantcene 

irce ? " 
You '11 say there was reason, — I '11 state 

you the case : 
There 's a hoy in my house in whose 

handsomish face 
Are features from which one may easily 

gather 
He is fairly entitled to call me his father : 
A youngster of thirty ; as yet rather 

slim, 
But of excellent promise in stature and 

limb. 
"Well, — to tell you the story, — a saucy 

young boor 
Of Johnny's acquaintance came up to the 

door. 
And, ringing the bell in a violent way, 
Sent up the Hibernian maiden to say 
That a gentleman wanted, a moment, 

to see 
"Mister" (adding the surname belong- 
ing to me). 
" Bid hira come to my study ! " I civilly 

said. 
In a minute or so Maggie popped in her 

head ; 
" It was not for yourself, sure, the fellow 

did ax ; 
He said it was young and not old Mister 

S— e 
He wanted to see ! " 

And am I to be told 

By a blundering booby that I — / am 
old? 

The word, I 'm aware, is by no means a 
new one, 

And for people of eighty, no doubt, is 
the true one ; 

What incensed my soul to such fierce in- 
dignation 

Was its very improper, absurd applica- 
tion ! 

Is he old who can climb to the highest 
of attics. 

And never complain of fatigue or " rheu- 
matics " ? 

Is he old who, in spite of his fast-thin- 
ning curls, 

Has a joke for the boys and a smile for 
the girls ? 

Is he old whom fair women — (No ! 
not the duress 

Of prison or torture shall make me con- 
fess!) 

Is he old who owes nothing to fraudu- 
lent art ? 



Above all, is he old who is young at the 
heart ? 

I rather tliink not ! But, quien sabe ? 
Who knows ? 

The bud of last evening to-day is a 
rose ; 

And roses will fade ; and, in like man- 
ner, when 

We jolly young fellows grow middle- 
aged men. 

Perhaps the Good Father (it surely were 
kind) 

Makes us to our failings conveniently 
blind. 

" Know yourself ! " said the Grecian. A 
difficult task, 

And rather too much of a mortal to 
ask ; 

We all know the name of the fellow who 
penned it. 

And how he asserted " e ccelo descendit ! " 

" Know yourself ! " It is well ; but for 
my part, my brothers, 

I would rather extend my acquaintance 
with others. 

As promising, surely, a better return 

Than aught of myself I could possibly 
learn ! 

To learn Human Nature is truly an art, 

And many imagine they 've got it by 
heart. 

Because they are keen at detecting of- 
fenses, 

Base motives, sly vices, and shallow pre- 
tenses ; 

Let us study, the rather, to find out the 
merit 

The faultiest neighbor may chance to 
inherit ; 

To publish the virtue that 's misunder- 
stood, 

And always and everywhere seek for 
the good. 

There was one " Paddy Goldsmith," an 
author of note, 

(And who has not read what " poor Oli- 
ver" wrote?) 

A scholar, philosopher, writer of plays, 

And a poet who still wears the freshest 
of bays, — 

Every dandy in to^vn, every chamber- 
maid Moll, 

Could tell of his blunders and laugh at 
poor "Noll " ; 

Every coxcomb could see he was homely 
and rough. 

And of follies and foibles had more than 
enough : 



ODE TO THE LEGISLATURE. 



103 



But it took the profoundest of sages to 

scan 
The learning and genius that lay in the 

man ! 
Sam Johnson could see, and was bold to 

declare, 
There was spirit and humor and poetry 

there ; 
And to fools who might sneer, he had 

ever this answer : 
" You may laugh as you will, sir ! and 

say what you can, sir ! 
He 's a genuine wit and a wonderful 

man. sir ! " 



ODE TO THE LEGISLATURE. 

ON THE EXPIRATION OF THE " HUN- 
DRED DATS." 

O "WISE Assembly ! and O wiser Sen- 
ate ! 
I much rejoice to pen it, — 
The Hundred Days in which you lived 
in clover 
Are gone and over ! 
Gone are the Legislators, great and 

small ; 
Clerks, Ushers, Porters, Messengers, and 

all 
The crowd of country cousins in the 
hall! 
Gone are the vultures, large and lit- 
tle ; 
Gone are the venders of cold victual ; 
Gone are the ladies, short and tall. 

The virtuous and the vicious, 
The meritorious and the meretricious, 
Who follow their vocations 
Where you resort ; 
In short. 
The Apple-women, and the sort 
With other appellations ! 
Gone is the patient, patriotic " Lobby " ; 
Some, who haA'-e bagged their game 
Laden with wealth — and shame ; 
And others, leading home their lame 

And ill-conditioned hobby, 
A little leaner than it came ! 

Gone, too, the Sharps and Flats who 

swarm 
In secret sessions, and perform 

"Feats of the Ring" 
Unequaled elsewhere, — not the sort of 
thing 



Where human features catch defacing 
blows, — 
But meaner feats than those. 
Degrading legislative Ayes and Noes ! 

O famous Hundred ! — 
In which (while "rural districts " won- 
dered ) 
Your little TuUys thundered. 
Your Hectors blustered, and your Solons 

blundered, 
And Buncombe — honest ass ! was praised 

— and plundered ! 
To think ! what wind and muscle were 
expended 
(Mere money not to mention) 
In quieting dissension ! 
What righteous bills opposed, and bad 

defended ; 
What Acts (and facts) were made and 
marred and mended 
Before the Session ended ! 

They say, O Legislature ! in despite 
Of all adverse appearances, you might 
Have been much weaker. 
(Z?ow ? I have asked, — but all in 

vain ; 
None could, or would, explain !) 
But this I freely own, — you had a 
" Speaker " 
That justified the title, and could 

speak, 
In speeches neither few nor weak ; 
And though he often pained us, — 
When at his higliest pitch of declama- 
tion. 
The man's oration, and vocif-oration, 
Were really Tremain-AoMS ! 

Perhaps, O Legislature ! since your pay 

Is rather small 
(I mean, of course, the regular per 

diem 
And not the price of votes when brokers 

buy 'em). 
You saw the Hundredth day 
With pleasure, after all. 
If so, I will not hint, — there 's little 

need, — 
You and the people were, for once, 
agreed ! 

Farewell, Senate ! and Assembly, too ! 
Good-by ! adios .' a-Dio ! adieu ! 

(I don't say au revoir ■') 
With common-sense I would n't be at 
war. 



104 



rAURA. 



That Legislatures come, itneeds must be, 
(And go, thank Heaven !) but when I see 

Your Ways and Means, I think 
Of what, upon a time, a person said 

Touching an article we eat and drink : 
If you 'd enjoy (quoth he) your ginger- 
bread. 

Or sip your sweetened coffee with de- 
light, 

Of sugar-making pray avoid the sight ! 

And thus, with greater cause, 
Would we respect the Laws 

(Which should be reverenced to be 
obeyed), 

It is n't best to see them made ! 



WHY: A SONNET. 

" Why do I love thee 1 " Thus, in ear- 
nest wise, 
I answer : Sweet ! I love thee for thy 

face 

Of rarest beauty ; and for every grace 

That in thy voice and air and motion lies ; 

I love thee for the love-look in thine 

eyes, — 

The melting glance which only one 

may see 
Of all who mark how beautiful they 
be; 
I love thee for thy mind (which yet de- 
nies, 
For modesty, how wonderful it is) ! 
I love thee for thy heart so true and 

warm, 
I love thee for thy bosom's hidden 
charm ; 



I love thee for thy mouth so sweet to 
kiss; 
Because of these I love thee ; yet 

above 
All else, because I cannot choose but 
love ! 



LAUEA. 

IN MEMOEIAM. 

" HATEFUL Death ! " my angry spirit 
cries, 
"Who thus couldst take my darling 

from my sight, 
Shrouding her beauty in sepulchral 
night ; 
cruel ! unto prayers and tears and 

sighs 
Inexorable ! " " Hush ! " my soul re- 
plies ; 
" Be just, O stricken heart ! the mor- 
tal strife 
Which we call 'death' is birth to 
higher life. 
Safe in the Father's Mansion in the 

skies, 
She bides thy coming ; only gone before 
A little while, that at thy parting 

breath 
Thou mayst endure a lighter pain of 
death, 
And gladlier pass beyond this earthly 
shore ; 
For, with thy Laura calling from on 

high. 
It cannot, sure, be very hard to die." 



FATHER PUMPKIN; OR, ALWAYS IN LUCK. 



105 



FAIET TALES, LEGENDS, Al^D 
APOLOGUES. 



TATHER PUMPKIN; OR, AL- 
WAYS IN LUCK. 

AN ARABIAN TALE. 



In Cairo once there dwelt a worthy 
man, 
Toilsome and frugal, but extremely 
poor; 

" Howe'er," he grumbled, "I may toil 
and plan, 
The wolf is ever howling at my door, 

While arrant rascals thrive and pros- 
per ; hence 

I much misdoubt the ways of Providence. 

II. 

" Allah is Allah ; and, we all agree, 
Mohammed is his Prophet. Be it so ; 

But what 's Mohammed ever done for 
me. 
To boil my kettle, I should like to 
know ? 

The thieves fare better; and I much in- 
cline 

From this day forth to make their call- 
ing mine." 

III. 

" Dog of an Arab ! " cried his pious 

spouse, 
"So you would steal to better your 

estate, 
And hasten Allah's vengeance ! Shame ! 

arouse ! 
Why sit you there repining at your 

fatel 
Pray to the Prophet, — sinner that you 

are, — 
Then wash your face and go to the 

Bazaar. 



" Take with you pen and paper and 
a book, 
And, sitting in a corner, gravely 
make 



Some mystic scrawls ; put on a solemn 

look. 
As if you were a wise and learned 

sheik ; 
And, mark my word, the people in a 

trice 
Will come in throngs to purchase your 

advice." 



" 'T is worth a trial, woman, I confess ; 

Things can't be worse," the moody 

Arab said ; 

" But then, alas ! I have no proper 

dress. 

Not e'en a turban to adorn my head." 

"Allah be praised!" Just here the 

woman spied 
A hollow pumpkin lying at her side. 



" See ! this will do ! " and, cutting it in 
twain. 
She placed the half upon her hus- 
band's pate ; 

" 'T is quaint and grave, and well befits 
thy brain. 
Most reverend master," cried the 
dame, elate. 

" Now to thy labor hasten thee away. 

And thou shalt prosper from this very 
day ! " 



And so, obedient to his wife's com- 
mand. 
The anxious sheik procured a little 
nook 
In the Bazaar, where, sitting by a stand, 
With much grimace he pored upon 
his book, 
Peering around, at intervals, to spy 
A customer, if such a thing were nigh. 



And soon, indeed, a customer appeared, 
A peasant pale and sweating with dis- 
tress. 



106 



FATHER PUMPKIN; OR, ALWAYS IN LUCK. 



" Good Father Pumpkin ! may your 

mighty beard " 
(Bowing in reverence) "be never 

less! 
I come to crave your counsel ; for, 

alas ! 
Most learned Father, I have lost my 

ass." 



" Now, curse the donkey ! " cried the 

puzzled man, 
Unto himself, " and curse Fatima 

too, 
Who sent me here ! for, do the best I 

can, 
And that 's the best that any one can 

do, 
I'm sure to blunder." So, in sheer 

despair. 
He named the graveyard : " Seek your 

donkey there ! " 



It chanced the ass that very moment 

grazed 
Within the graveyard, as the sheik 

had told ; 
And so the peasant, joyful and amazed. 
Gave thanks and money ; nor could 

he withhold 
His pious prayers, but, bowing to the 

ground, 
Cried, " Great is Allah ! — for my ass is 

found ! " 



" Allah is Allah ! " said the grateful 
sheik, 
Returning homeward with his pre- 
cious fee ; 

" I much rejoice for dear Fatima's 
sake; 
Few men, in sooth, have such a mate 
as she ; 

Most wives are bosh, or worse than 
bosh, but mine 

In wit and beauty is almost divine ! " 



Next day he hastened early to his post, 
But found some clients had arrived 
before ; 
One eager dame a skein of silk had 
lost; 
Another money ; and a dozen more, 
Of either sex, were waiting to recover 
A fickle mistress or a truant lovei". 



With solemn face the sheik replied to 
each 
Whate'er his whim might move his 
tongue to say ; 

And all turned out according to his 
speech ; 
And so it chanced for many a lucky 
day, 

Till " Father Pumpkin " grew a famous 
seer, 

Whose praise had even reached the Sul- 
tan's ear. 



" Allah is Allah ! " cried the happy 
sheik ; 
"And nevermore, Fatima, will I 
-doubt 
Mohammed is his prophet ; let us take 
Our ease henceforward " — Here a 
sudden shout 
Announced the Sultan's janizaries, sent, 
They said, to seize him, — but with kind 
intent. 



" The Grand Seraglio has been robbed 
by knaves 
Of all the royal jewels ; and the 
Porte, 

To get them back again, your presence 
craves 
In Stamboul ; he will pay you richly 
for 't, 

If you succeed ; if not, — why then, in- 
stead 

Of getting money, you will lose your 
head." 

XVI. 

" My curse upon thee ! " cried the angry 
man 
Unto Fatima; "see what thou hast 
done! 

O woman, woman ! since the world 
began 
All direst mischiefs underneath the 
sun 

Are woman's doing — " Here the Sul- 
tan's throng 

Of janizaries bade hira " Come along ! " 

XVII. 

The seer's arrival being now proclaimed 
Throughout the capital, the robbers 
quake 



FATHER PUMPKIN; OR, ALWAYS IN LUCK. 



107 



With very fear; while, trembling and 

ashamed, 
In deeper terror sits the wretched 

sheik, 
Cursing Fatima for a wicked wife 
Whose rash ambition has betrayed his 

life. 

XVIII. 

" But seven short days my sands have 

yet to run. 
And then, alas ! I lose my foolish 

head; 
These seven white beans I '11 swallow, 

one by one, 
To mark each passing day ere I am 

dead. 
Alas ! alas ! the Sultan's hard decree ! 
The sun is setting : there goes one ! " 

said he. 



Just then a thief (the leader of the 
band 
That stole the Sultan's jewels) pass- 
ing by, 
Heard the remark, and saw the lifted 
hand, 
And ran away as fast as he could 

To tell his comi-ades that, beyond a 

doubt. 
The cunning seer had fairly found him 

out. 



Next day another, ere the hour was 

dark. 
Passed by the casement where the 

sheik was seen ; 
His hand was lifted warningly, and 

hark! 
" There goes a second!" (swallowing 

the bean.) 
The robber fled, amazed, and told the 

crew 
'T was time to counsel what were best 

to do. 



But still, — as if the faintest doubt to 
cui'e, — 
The following eve the robbers sent a 
third ; 
And so till six had made the matter 
sure 
(For unto each the same event oc- 
curred). 



When, taking counsel, they at once 

agreed 
To seek the wizard and confess the deed. 



" Most reverend Father," thus the chief 

began, 
" Thy thoughts are just ; thy spoken 

words are true ; 
To hide from thee surpasses mortal 

man ; 
Our evil works henceforward we 

eschew. 
For now we know that sinning never 

thrives ; 
Here, take the jewels, but oh spare our 

lives ! " 

XXIII. 

" The law enjoins," the joyful sheik re- 
plied, 
"That bloody Death shall end the 
robber's days ; 

But, that your sudden virtue may be 
tried. 
Swear on the Koran you will mend 
your ways. 

And then depart." The robbers roundly 
swore. 

In Allah's name, that they would rob 
no more. 

XXIV. 

" Allah is Allah ! " cried the grateful 

sheik, 
Holding the jewels in the vizier's face. 
The vizier answered, " Sir, be pleased 

to take 
The casket to the Sultan. "No, 

your Grace," 
The sheik replied, " the gems are here, 

you see ; 
Pray tell the Sultan he may come to 

me!" 

XXV. 

The Sultan came, and, ravished to be- 
hold 
The precious jewels to his hand re- 
stored. 

He made the finder rich in thanks and 
gold. 
And on the instant pledged his royal 
word. 

And straight confirmed it in the Proph- 
et's name. 

To grant whatever he might choose to 
claim. 



108 



THE KING AND THE COTTAGER. 



XXVI. 

' ' Sire of the faithful ! publish a decree " 
(The sheik made auswerj, " and pro- 
claim to all 

That none henceforth shall ever ques- 
tion me 
Of any matter either great or small ; 

I ask no more. So shall my labors 
cease ; 

My waning life I fain would spend in 
peace." 

XXVII. 

The Sultan answered . " Be it even so ; 
And may your beard increase a thou- 
sand-fold ; 

And may your house with children over- 
fiow ! " 
And so the sheik, o'erwhelmed with 
praise and gold, 

Returned unto the city whence he came, 

Blessing Mohammed's and Fatima's 
name! 



THE KING AND THE COTTA- 
GER. 

A PERSIAN LEGEND. 



Peat list unto a legend 
The ancient poets tell ; 

'T is of a mighty monarch 
In Persia once did dwell ; 

A mighty queer old monarch 
Who ruled his kingdom well. 



" I must build another palace/' 
Observed this mighty king; 

"Por this is getting shabby 
Along the southern wing ; 

And, really, for a monarch. 
It is n't quite the thing. 



" So I will have a new one. 

Although I greatly fear, 
To build it just to suit me 

Will cost me rather dear ; 
And I'll choose, God wot, another spot, 

Much finer than this here." 

IV. 

So he traveled o'er his kingdom 
A proper site to find. 



Where he might build a palace 

Exactly to his mind, 
All with a pleasant prospect 

Before it, and behind. 



Not long with this endeavor 
The king had traveled round. 

Ere, to his royal pleasure, 
A charming spot he found ; 

But an ancient widow's cabin 
Was standing on the ground. 



" Ah ! here," exclaimed the monarch, 

" Is just the proper spot, 
If this woman would allow me 

To remove her little cot." 
But the beldam answered plainly, 

She had rather he would not ! 

VII. 

" Within this lonely cottage, 
Great Monarch, I was born ; 

And only from this cottage 
By Death will I be torn : 

So spare it in your justice. 
Or spoil it in your scorn ! " 



Then all the courtiers mocked her. 
With cruel words and jeers : — 

" 'T is plain her royal master 
She neither loves nor fears ; 

We would knock her ugly hovel 
About her ugly ears ! 



" When ever was a subject 

Who might the king withstand ? 

Or deem his spoken pleasure 
As less than his command 1 

Of course he '11 rout the beldam, 
And confiscate her land ! " 



But, to their deep amazement. 

His Majesty replied : 
" Good woman, never heed them, 

The King is on your side ; 
Your cottage is your castle. 

And here you shall abide. 



" To raze it in a moment, 
The power is mine, I grant; 

My absolute dominion 
A hundred poets chant ; 



THE YOUTH AND THE NORTHWIND. 



109 



For being Khan of Persia, 
There 's nothing that I can't.'" 



('Twas in this pleasant fashion 
The mighty monarch spoke ; 

Tor kings have merry fancies 
Like other mortal folk : 

And none so high and mighty 
But loves his little joke.) 

xm. 
"But power is scarcely worthy 

Of honor or applause, 
That in its domination 

Contemns the widow's cause, 
Or perpetrates injustice 

By trampling on the laws. 



" That I have wronged the meanest 
No honest tongue may say : 

So bide you in your cottage, 
Good woman, while you may ; 

"What 's yours by deed and purchase 
No man may take away. 



" And T will build beside it, 
For though your cot may be 

In such a lordly presence 
No fitting thing to see, 

If it honor not my castle. 
It will surely honor me ! 



"For so my loyal people, 
Who gaze upon the sight, 

Shall know that in oppression 
I do not take delight ; 

Nor hold a king's convenience 
Before a subject's right." 



Now from his spoken purpose 
The king departed not ; 

He built the royal dwelling 
Upon the chosen spot. 

And there they stood together, - 
The palace and the cot. 

XVIII. 

Sure such unseemly neighbors 
Were never seen before ; 

" His Majesty is doting," 
His silly courtiers swore ; 

But all true loyal subjects, 
They loved the king the more. 



Long, long he ruled his kingdom 

In honor and renown ; 
But danger ever threatens 

The head that wears a crown. 
And Fortune, tired of smiling, 

For once put on a frown. 



For ever secret Envy 
Attends a high estate ; 

And ever lurking Malice 
Pursues the good and great ; 

And ever base Ambition 
Will end in deadly Hate. 



And so two wicked courtiers, 
Who long had strove in vain, 

By craft and evil counsels. 
To mar the monarch's reign, 

Contrived a scheme infernal 
Whereby he should be slain. 

XXII. 

But as all deeds of darkness 
Are wont to leave a clew 

Before the glaring sunlight 
To bring the knaves to view, 

That sin may be rewarded. 
And Satan get his due, — 



To plan their wicked treason, 
They sought a lonely spot 

Behind the royal palace. 
Hard by the widow's cot, 

Who heard their machinations. 
And straight revealed the plot ! 

XXIV. 

" I see," exclaimed the Persian, 
" The just are wise alone ; 

Who spares the rights of others 
May chance to guard his own ; 

The widow's humble cottage 
Has propped a monarch's throne ! " 



THE YOUTH AND THE NORTH- 
WIND. 

A TALE OF NORWAY. 

Once on a time — 't was long ago — 
There lived a worthy dame 



no 



THE YOUTH AND THE NORTHWIND. 



Who sent her son to fetch some flour, 
For she was old and lame. 

But while he loitered on the road, 
The Northwind chanced to stray 

Across the careless younker's path. 
And stole the flour away. 

"Alas ! what shall we do for bread? " 
Exclaimed the weeping lad ; 

" The flour is gone, — the flour is gone, — 
And it was all we had ! " 

And so he sought the Northwind's 
cave, 

Beside the distant main ; 
" Good Mister Boreas," said the lad, 

" I want my flour again. 

" 'T was all we had to live upon, — 

My mother old and I ; 
Oh give us back the flour again. 

Or we shall surely die ! " 

" I have it not," the Northwind growled ; 

" But, for your lack of bread, 
I give to you this table-cloth ; 

'T will serve you well instead ; 

" For you have but to spread it out, 

And every costly dish 
Will straight appear at your command. 

Whatever you may wish." 

The lad received the magic cloth 

With wonder and delight. 
And thanked the donor heartily, 

As well, indeed, he might. 

Returning homeward, at an inn 
Just half his journey through. 

He fain must show his table-cloth. 
And what the cloth could do. 

So while he slept the knavish host 

Went slyly to his bed, 
And stole the cloth, — but shrewdly 
placed 

Another in its stead. 

Unknowing what the rogue had done. 

The lad went on his way, 
And came unto his journey's end 

Just at the close of day. 

He showed the dame his table-cloth, 
And told her of its power ; 



" Good sooth ! " he cried, " 't was well 
for lis 
The Northwind stole the flour." 

" Perhaps," exclaimed the cautious 
crone, 

" The story may be true ; 
'T is mighty little good, I ween, 

Your table-cloth can do." 

And now the younker spread it 
forth. 

And tried the spell. Alas ! 
'T was but a common table-cloth. 

And nothing came to pass. 

Then to the Northwind, far away. 
He sped with might and main ; 

" Your table-cloth is good for naught ; 
I want my flour again ! " 

" I have it not," the Northwind growled, 
" But, for your lack of bread, 

I give to 3'ou this little goat, 
'T will serve you well instead ; 

" For you have but to tell him this ; 

' Make money, Master Bill ! ' 
And he will give you golden coins, 

As many as you will." 

The lad received the magic goat 

With wonder and delight. 
And thanked the donor heartily. 

As well, indeed, he might. 

Returning homeward, at the inn 
Just half his journey through, 

He fain must show his little goat, 
And what the goat could do. 

So while he slept the knavish host 

Went slyly to the shed, 
And stole the goat, — but shrewdly 
placed 

Another in his stead. 

Unknowmg what the rogue had done, 

The youth went on his way. 
And reached his weary journey's end 

Just at the close of day. 

He showed the dame his magic goat, 
- And told her of his power ; 
" Good sooth ! " he cried, " 't was well 
for us 
The Northwind stole the flour." 



THE BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT. 



Ill 



" I much misdoubt," the dame replied, 
" Your wondrous tale is true ; 

'T is little good, for hungry folk, 
Your silly goat can do ! " 

"Good Master Bill," the lad exclaimed, 
" Make money ! " but, alas ! 

'T Avas nothing but a common goat. 
And nothing came to pass. 

Then to the Northwind, angrily. 
He sped with might and main ; 

" Your foolish goat is good for naught ; 
I want my flour again ! " 

" I have it not, " the Northwind growled, 
" Nor can I give you aught, 

Except this cudgel, — which, indeed, 
A magic charm has got ; 

"For you have but to tell it this : 

' My cudgel, hit away ! ' 
And, till you bid it stop again, 

The cudgel will obey." 

Returning home, he stopt at night 
Where he had lodged before ; 

And feigning to be fast asleep. 
He soon began to snore. 

And when the host would steal the 
staff. 

The sleeper muttered, " Stay, 
I see what you would fain be at ; 

Good cudgel, hit away ! " 

The cudgel thumped about his ears, 

Till he began to cry, 
" Oh stop the staff, for mercy's sake ! 

Or I shall surely die ! " 

But still the cudgel thumped away 

Until the rascal said, 
" I '11 give you back the cloth and goat, 

Oh spare my broken head ! " 

And so it was the lad reclaimed 

His table-cloth and goat ; 
And, growing rich, at length became 

A man of famous note ; 

He kept his mother tenderly, 
And cheered her waning life ; 

And married — as you may suppose — 
A princess for a wife ; 

And while he lived had ever near, 
To favor worthy ends. 



A cudgel for his enemies, 
And money for his friends. 



THE BLIND MEN AND THE 
ELEPHANT. 

A HINDOO FABLE. 



It was six men of Indostan 
To learning much inclined. 

Who went to see the Elephant 
(Though all of them were blind). 

That each by observation 
Might satisfy his mind. 



The First approached the Elephant, 

And happening to fall 
Against his broad and sturdy side, 

At once began to bawl : 
" God bless me ! but the Elephant 

Is very like a wall ! ", 



The Second, feeling of the tusk, 
Cried, " Ho ! what have we here 

So very round and smooth and sharp ? 
To me 'tis mighty clear 

This wonder of an Elephant 
Is very like a spear ! " 



The Third approached the animal. 

And happening to take 
The squirming trunk within his hands, 

Thus boldly up and spake : 
" I see," quoth he, " the Elephant 

Is very like a snake ! " 



The Fourth reached out his eager hand, 

And felt about the knee. 
" What most this wondrous beast is like 

Is mighty plain," quoth he ; 
" 'T is clear enough the Elephant 

Is very like a tree ! " 



The Fifth, who chanced to touch the 
ear, 

Said : "E'en the blindest man 
Can tell what this resembles most ; 

Deny the fact who can. 
This marvel of an Elephant 

Is very like a fan! " 



112 



THE TREASURE OF GOLD. 



The Sixth no sooner had begun 
About the beast to grope, 

Than, seizing on the swinging tail 
That fell within his scope, 

" I see," quoth he, " the Elephant 
Is very like a rope ! " 

VIII. 

And so these men of Indostan 

Disputed loud and long, 
Each in his own opinion 

Exceeding stiff and strong, 
Though each was partly in the right, 

And all were in the wrong ! 



So oft in theologic wars, 
The disputants, I ween. 

Rail on in utter ignorance 
Of what each other mean, 

And prate about an Elephant 
Not one of them has seen ! 



THE TREASURE OF GOLD. 



A LEGEND OP ITALY. 



A BEAUTIFUL story, my darlings, 
Though exceedingly quaint and old, 

Is a tale I have read in Italian, 
Entitled, the Treasure of Gold. 



There lived near the town of Bologna 
A widow of virtuous fame. 

Alone with her only daughter, — 
Madonna Lucrezia by name. 



A lady whom changing fortune 
Had numbered among the poor ; 

And she kept an inn by the wayside, 
For the use of peasant and boor. 



One day at the door of the tavern 
Three roving banditti appeared, 

And one was a wily Venetian, 
To guess by his curious beard. 



And he spoke to the waiting hostess 
In phrases exceedingly fine, 

And sat himself down with his fellows, 
And called for a flagon of wine. 



At length, after deeply discoursing 
In voices suspiciously low. 

The travelers rose from the table. 
And made preparation to go. 



" Madonna," up spoke the Venetian, 
"Pray do us the kindness to hold 

Awhile, for our better convenience, 
This snug little treasure of gold." 



" Indeed," said the smiling Lucrezia, 
"You're welcome to leave it, — but 
stay; 

I have never a lock in my hovel. 
And the bag may be stolen away. 



" Besides," said the woman, " consider, 
There 's no one the fact to attest ; 

In pledge for so precious a treasure 
You have only my word, at the 
best." 



" In faith ! " said the civil Venetian, 
" We have n't a morsel of fear ; 

But to guard against awkward mis- 
chances. 
Let the matter in writing appear." 



And this was a part of the writing 
She gave the banditti to hold : 

" Not to one, nor to two, but to all 
Will I render the treasure of gold." 



Now the robbers were scarcely departed 
When the cunning Venetian came 
back, 

With, " Madam, allow me the favor 
Of putting my seal to the sack." 

XIII. 

But the moment she gave him the treas- 
ure, 
A horseman rode up, and behold ! 



THE TREASURE OF GOLD. 



113 



While the woman went out to attend 
him, 
The villain ran off with the gold ! 



" Alas ! " cried the widow, in anguish, 
"Alas for my daughter forlorn ; 

I would we had perished together, 
The day Giannetta was born ! " 



In sooth, she had reason for sorrow. 
Although it were idle to weep ; 

She was sued in the court of Bologna 
For the money she promised to 
keep. 



" Now go, Giannetta," she faltered, 
" To one that is versed in the laws ; 

But stop at the shrine of the Virgin, 
And beg her to favor our cause." 

XVII. 

Alas for Madonna Lucrezia ! 
In vain Giannetta applied 
To each lawyer of note in the city ; 
'They were all on the opposite side ! 



At last, as the sorrowing maiden 
Sat pondering her misery over. 

And breathing a prayer to the Virgin, 
She thought of Lorenzo, her lover ; 



A student well read in the statutes. 
According to common report, 

But one who, from modest aversion, 
Had never appeared in the court. 



" I '11 try ! " said the faithful Lorenzo, 
After hearing her narrative through, 

" And for strength in the hour of trial, 
I'll think, Giannetta, of you ! " 



Next morning the judges assembled ; 

The claimants' attorneys were heard, 
And gave a most plausible version 

Of how the transaction occurred ; 



Then showed, by the widow's confes- 
sion, 
She had taken the money to hold. 



And proved that, though often re- 
quested, 
She failed to surrender the gold. 

XXIII. 

The judges seemed fairly impatient 

To utter the fatal decree. 
When, lo ! the young student Lorenzo 

Stands up, and commences a plea : — 



" Your Honors ! I speak for the widow ; 

Some words have been (carelessly) 
said 
Concerning a written agreement ; 

I ask that the v/riting be read." 

XXV. 

"Of course," said the Court, "it is 
proper 

The writing appear in the case ; 
The sense of a written agreement 

May give it a different face." 

XXVI. 

" Observe," said the student, " the bar- 
gain 

To which we are willing to hold, — 
' Not to one, nor to two, but to all, 

Will I render the treasure of gold.' 

XXVII. 

" We stand by the writing, your Hon- 
ors, 
And candidly ask of you whether 
These fellows can sue for their money 
Till they come and demand it to- 
gether ? " 

XXVIII. 

And so it was presently settled. 
For so did the judges decide ; 

And great was the joy of the widow. 
And great was her daughter's pride. 



And fast grew the fame of Lorenzo, 
For making so clever a plea, 

Till never in all Bologna 
Was lawyer so wealthy as he. 

XXX. 

And he married his own Giannetta, 
As the story is pleasingly told ; 

And such were the bane aud the bless- 
ing 
That came of the Treasure of Gold ! 



114 THE NOBLEMAN, FISHERMAN, AND PORTER. 



THE NOBLEMAN, THE FISHEE- 
MAN, AND THE PORTER. 

AN ITALIAN LEGEND. 



It was a famous nobleman 
Who flourished in the East, 

And once, upon a holiday. 
He made a goodly feast. 

And summoned in of kith and kin 
A hundred at the least. 



Now while they sat in social chat 
Discoursing frank and free, 

In came the steward, with a bow, 
" A man below," said he, 

" Has got, my lord, the finest fish 
That ever swam the sea ! " 



" Indeed ! " exclaimed the nobleman, 

" Then buy it in a trice ; 
The finest fish that ever swam 

Must needs be very nice ; 
Go, buy it of the fisherman. 

And never mind the price." 



" And so I would," the steward said, 
" But, faith, he would n't hear 

A word of money for his fish, 
(Was ever man so queer ?) 

But said he thought a hundred stripes 
Could not be counted dear ! " 



" Go bring him here," my lord replied ; 

" The man I fain would see ; 
A merry wag, by your report, 

This fisherman must be." 
" Go bring him here ! Go bring him 
here ! " 

Cried all the 'company. 



The steward did as he was bid, 

When thus my lord began : 
" Eor this fine fish what may you wish ? 

I '11 buy it, if I can." 
" One hundred lashes on my back ! " 

Exclaimed the fisherman. 



"Now, by the Rood ! but this is good,' 
The laughing lord replied ; 



" Well, let the fellow have his way ; 

Go, call a groom ! " he cried ; 
"But let the payment he demands 

Be modestly applied." 



He bared his back and took the lash 

As it were merry play ; 
But at the fiftieth stroke, he said, 

" Good master groom, I pray 
Desist a moment, if you please ; 

I have a word to say. 



" I have a partner in the case, — 
The fellow standing there ; 

Pray take the jacket off his back. 
And let him have his share ; 

That one of us should take the whole 
Were surely hardly fair ! " 



" A partner ? " cried the nobleman, 
" Who can the fellow mean 1 " 

"I mean," replied the fisherman, 
With countenance serene, 

" Your Porter there ! the biggest knave 
That ever yet was seen. 



" The rogue who stopped me at the 
gate. 

And would n't let me in 
Until I swore to give him half 

Of all my fish should v.dn. 
I 've got my share ! Pray let, my lord, 

His payment now begin ! " 



" What you propose," my lord replied, 
" Is nothing more than fair ; 

Here, groom, — lay on a hundred 
stripes. 
And mind you do not spare. 

The scurvy dog shall never say 
He did n't get his share ! " 



Then all that goodly company 

They laughed with might and main, 

The while beneath the stinging lash 
The porter writhed in pain. 

" So fare all villians," quoth my lord, 
" Who seek dishonest gain ! " 



Then, turning to the fisherman, 
Who still was standing near, 



THE MONARCH AND THE MARQUIS. 



115 



He filled his hand with golden coins, 
Some twenty sequins clear, 

And bade him come and take the like 
On each succeeding year. 



THE DERVIS AND THE KING. 



A TUKKISH TALE. 

A PIOUS Dei-vis, once upon a time, 
Of all his sect the wisest and the 
best, 
Journeyed, on foot, through many a for- 
eign clime, 
To serve his Master in some holy 
quest. 

And so it chanced that on a certain day. 
While plodding wearily along the 
road, 
He saw before him, near the public 
way. 
The house wherein the Tartar King 
abode. 

Musing the while on some absorbing 
thought 
That quite engrossed the pious pil- 
grim's mind, 
The palace seemed — just what the Der- 
vis sought — 
A caravansary of the better kind. 

Entering the palace hy an open door. 
Straight to the gallery the Dervis 
goes. 
Lays down his meagre wallet on the 
floor, 
And spreads his blanket for a night's 
repose. 

It chanced the King, soon after, passing 

Observed the man, and with an angry 

air, 
As one who sees a robber or a spy. 
Bade him avow what business brought 

him there. 

" My business here," the Dervis meekly 
said, 
"Is but to rest, as any traveler 
might ; 



In this good tavern I have made my 
bed. 
And here I mean to tarry for the 
night." 

" A caravansary — eh?" the King ex- 
claimed 
(His visage mantling with a royal 
grin), 
"Now look around you, man, and be 
ashamed ! 
How could you take my palace for an 
inn ? " 

" Sire," said the Dervis (seeing his mis- 
take), 
" I purpose presently to answer this ; 
But grant me, first, the liberty to 
make 
Some brief inquiries, if 't is not amiss, 

" Pray tell me. Sire, who first resided 
here ? " 
" My ancestors, — as the tradition 
goes." 
" Who next ? " " My father, — that is 
very clear." 
" Who next 1 " " Myself, — as every- 
body knows." 

"And who — Heaven grant you many 
years to reign ! — 
Will occupy the house when you have 
done 1 " 
" Why," said the monarch, " that is very 
plain, — 
Of course 't will be the Prince, my 
only son ! " 

" Sire," said the Dervis, gravely, " I 
protest, — 
Whate'er the building you may choose 
to call, — 
A house that knows so many a transient 
guest. 
Is but a caravansary, after all ! " 



THE MONARCH AND THE 
MARQUIS. 

AN ORIENTAL LEGEND. 



It was a merry monarch 
Who ruled a distant land. 



116 



THE MONARCH AND THE MARQUIS. 



And ever, for his pastime, 
Some new device he planned, 

And once, to all his servants. 
He gave this queer command. 

II. 
Quoth he : " To every stranger 

Who comes unto my court 
Let a fried fish be given, 

And of the finest sort ; 
Then mark the man's behavior, 

And bring me due report. 



" If, when the man has eaten 
The fish unto the bone. 

The glutton turns it over, — 
Then, by my royal throne, 

For this, his misdemeanor, 
The gallows shall atone ! " 



Now when this regal mandate, 

According to report. 
Had slain a score of strangers, 

To serve the monarch's sport. 
It chanced a gay young Marquis 

Came to the royal court. 



His Majesty received him 
As suited with his state, 

But when he sat at dinner, 
The fish was on the plate ; 

Alas ! he turns it over. 
Unconscious of his fate. 



Then, to his dire amazement. 
Three guardsmen, standing nigh, 

Conveyed him straight to prison. 
And plainly told him why, — 

And how, in retribution, 
That he was doomed to die ! 



The Marquis, filled with sorrow. 
Implored the monarch's ruth, 

Whereat the King relented 
(A gracious deed, in sooth !) 

And granted these conditions. 
In pity of his youth : — 



That for three days the culprit 
Should have the King's reprieve ; 

Also, to name three wishes 
The prisoner had leave, — 



One each succeeding morning, - 
The which he should receive. 



" Thanks ! " said the grateful Marquis, 

" His Majesty is kind ; 
And, first, to wed his daughter 

Is what I have in mind ; 
Go, bid him fetch a parson 

The holy tie to bind." 



Now when the merry Monarch 
This bold demand had heard, 

With grief and indignation 
His royal breast was stirred ; 

But he had pledged his honor. 
And so he kept his word. 



Now, if the first petition 
He reckoned rather bold. 

What was the King's amazement 
To hear the second told, — 

To wit, the monarch's treasure 
Of silver and of gold ! 

XII. 

To beg the culprit's mercy 
This mighty king was fain ; 

But pleading and remonstrance 
Were uttered all in vain ; 

And so he gave the treasure 
It cost him years to gain. 

XIII. 

Sure ne'er was mortal Monarch 

In such dismay as he ! 
He woke next morning early 

And went himself to see 
What, in the name of wonder. 

The third demand would be. 



" I ask," replied the Marquis, 
" (My third and final wish), 

That you should call the servants 
Who served the fatal dish. 

And have the eyes extinguished 
That saw me turn the Eish." 



" Good ! " said the monarch gayly. 

With obvious delight, 
" What you demand, Sir Marquis, 

Is reasonable, quite ; 
That they should pay this forfeit 

Is nothing more than right. 



THE CALIPH AND THE CRIPPLE. 



117 



" How was it, — Mr. Chamberlain 1 

But he at once cleniad 
That he had seen the culprit 

Turn up the other side ; 
" It must have been the Steward," 

The Chamberlain replied. 



"Indeed! " exclaimed the Steward, 

" It surely was n't I ! 
It must have been the Butler ! " — 

Who quickly made reply, 
" It must have been the guardsmen. 

Unless the fellows lie ! " 



But they, in turn, protested, 
With plausible surprise, 

(And dreadful imprecations. 
If they were telling lies !) 

That nothing of the matter 
Had come before their eyes. 

XIX. 

" Good father," said the Princess, 
" I pray you ponder this " 

(And here she gave the monarch 
A reverential kiss), 

" My husband must be guiltless, 
If none saw aught amiss ! " 



The monarch frowned a little. 
And gravely shook his head : 

" Your Marquis should be punished ; 
Well, — let him live," he said, 

" For though he cheats the gallows, 
The man, at least, is wed ! " 



THE CALIPH AND THE CEIP- 
PLE. 

AN ARABIAN TALE. 

The Caliph, Ben Akas, whose surname 
was " Wise," 
From the wisdom and wit he dis- 
played. 
One morning rode forth in a merchant's 
disguise 
To see how his laws were obeyed. 

WhUe riding along, in a leisurely way, 
A beggar came up to his side. 



And said, " In the name of the Prophet, 
I pray 
You 'Jl give a poor cripple a ride." 

Ben Akas, amazed at the mendicant's 
prayer, 
Asked where he was wishing to go. 
" I'm going," he said, " to the neighbor- 
ing fair ; 
But my crutches are wretchedly 
slow." 

" Get up ! " said the Caliph ; " a saddle 
like this 
Is hardly sufficient for two ; 
And yet, by the Prophet ! — 't were 
greatly amiss 
To snub a poor cripple like you." 

The beggar got up, and together they 
rode 
Till they came to the neighboring 
town, 
When, hard by the house where the 
Cadi abode, 
He bade his companion get down. 

" Nay, get down yourself! " was the 
fellow's reply. 
Without the least shame or remorse. 
" Indeed ! " said the Caliph, " and pray 
tell me why ? " 
Quoth the beggar, " To give me the 
horse ! 

" You know very well that the nag is 
my own ; 

And if you resort to the laws. 
You do not imagine your story alone 

Sufficient to carry the cause ? 

"The Cadi is reckoned the wisest of 
men. 
And, loolung at you and at me, 
After hearing us both, 't is a hundred to 
ten 
The cripple will get the decree." 

" Very well ! " said Ben Akas, as- 
tonished to hear 
The impudent fellow's discourse, 
" If the Cadi is wise, there is little to 
fear . 
But 1 soon shall recover my horse." 

" Agreed ! " said the beggar ; " whate'er 
the decree, 
The verdict shall find me content." 



118 



TEE CALIPH AND THE CRIPPLE. 



"As to that," said the other, "we '11 
presently see." 
And so to the Cadi they went. 

It chanced that a cause was engrossing 
the Cadi, 
Where a woman occasioned the strife ; 
And both parties claimed the identical 
lady 
As being his own lawful wife. 

The one was a peasant ; a scholar the 
other ; 

And each made a speech in his turn ; 
But, what was a very particular pother, 

The woman refused to be sworn. 

"Enough for the present!" the Cadi 
declared, 
" Come back in the morning," said he ; 
"And now" (to Ben Akas) "the Court 
is prepared 
To hear what your grievance may 
be." 

Ben Akas no sooner the truth had nar- 
rated 
When the beggar as coolly replies : 
" I swear, by the Prophet ! the fellow 
has stated 
A parcel of impudent lies ! 

" I was coming to market, and when I 
descried 
A man by the wayside alone. 
Looking weary and faint, why, I gave 
him a ride ; 
Now he swears that the horse is his 
own ! " 

" Very well," said the Judge, " let us 
go to the stable. 
And each shall select in his turn." 
Ben Akas went first, and was easily 
able 
His favorite steed to discern. 

The cripple went next; though the 
stable was full. 
The true one was instantly shown. 
" Your Honor," said he, " did you think 
me so dull 
That I could n't distinguish my 
own ? " 

Next morning the Cadi came into the 
court, 
And sat himself down at his ease ; 



And thither the suitors and people re- 
sort 
To list to the Judge's decrees. 

First calling the scholar, who sued for. 
his spouse. 
His Honor thus settled the doubt : 
" The woman is yours ; take her home 
to your house. 
And don't let her often go out." 

Then calling before him Ben Akas, 

whose cause 

Stood next in the calendar's course. 

He said : " By the Prophet's inflexible 

laws, 

Let the merchant recover his horse ! 

" And as for the beggar, I further de- 
cide 
His villany fairly has earned 
A good hundred lashes well laid on his 
hide ; 
Meshallah ! The court is adjourned." 

Ben Akas that night sought the Cadi's 
abode. 
And said : " 'T is the Caliph you see. 
Though hither, indeed, as a merchant I 
rode, 
I am Abou Ben Akas to thee." 

The Cadi, abashed, made the lowest of 
bows, 
And, kissing his Majesty's hand. 
Cried : " Great is the honor you do to 
my house ; 
I wait for your royal command ! " 

" I fain would possess," was the Caliph's 
reply, 
" Your wisdom ; so to tell me, I pray, ' 
How your Honor discovered where jus- 
tice might lie 
In the causes decided to-day." 

" Why, as to the woman," the Cadi re- 
plied, 

" It was easily settled, I think ; 
Just taking the lady a moment aside, 

I said, ' Fill my standish with ink.' 

"And quick, at the order, the bottle 

was taken, 
With a dainty and dexterous hold; 
The standish was washed ; the fluid was 

shaken ; 
New cotton put in for the old " — 



THE UGLY AUNT. 



119 



"I see!" said the Caliph; "the story 
is pleasant ; 
Of course it was easy to tell 
The scholar swore truly ; the spouse of 
a peasant 
Could never have done it so well. 

"And now for the horse?" "That 
was harder, I own. 
For, mark you, the beggarly elf 
(However the rascal may chance to have 
known) 
Knew the palfrey as well as your- 
self. 

"But the truth was apparent, the mo- 
ment I learned 
What the animal thought of the two ; 
The impudent cripple he savagely 
spurned. 
But was plainly delighted with you ! " 

Ben Akas sat musing and silent 
awhile, 
As one whom devotion employs ; 
Then, raising his head with a heavenly 
smile. 
He said, in a reverent voice : — 

" Sure Allah is good and abundant in 

grace ! 

Thy wisdom is greater than mine ; 

I would that the Caliph might rule in 

his place 

As well as thou servest in thine ! " 



THE UGLY AUNT.5 



A NORWEGIAN" TALE. 



It was a little maiden 

Lived long and long ago 
(Though when it was, and where it 
was, 

I 'm sure I do not know), 
And her face was all the fortune 

This maiden had to show. 



And yet — what many people 
Will think extremely rare 

In one who, like this maiden, 
Ne'er knew a mother's care — 



The neighbors all asserted 
That she was good as fair. 



" Alack ! " exclaimed the damsel. 
While bitter tears she shed, 

" I 'm little skilled to labor, 
And yet I must be fed ; 

I fain by daily service 

Would earn my daily bread." 



And so she sought a palace. 
Where dwelt a mighty queen, 

And when the royal lady 
The little maid had seen, 

She loved her for her beauty. 
Despite her lowly mien. 



Not long she served her Majesty 

Ere jealousy arose 
(Because she was the favorite. 

As you may well suppose), 
And all the other servants 

Became her bitter foes. 



And so these false companions. 

In envy of her face. 
Contrived a wicked stratagem 

To bring her to disgrace. 
And fill her soul with sorrow. 

And rob her of her place. 



They told her royal Majesty 
(Most arrant liars they!) 

That often, in their gossiping, 
They 'd heard the maiden say 

That she could spin a pound of flax 
All in a single day ! 



" Indeed ! " exclaimed her Majesty, 
"I'm fond of spinning, too; 

So come, my little maiden, 
And make your boasting true : 

Or else your foolish vanity 
You presently may rue ! " 



Alas ! the hapless damsel 
Was now afflicted sore, 

No mother e'er liad taught her 
In such ingenious lore ; 

A spinning-wheel, in all her life. 
She ne'er had seen before ! 



120 



THE THREE GIFTS. 



But fearing much to tell the queen 

How she had been belied, 
She tried to spin upon the wheel, 

And still in vain she tried ; 
And so — 't was all that she could 
do — 

She sat her down and cried. 



Now while she thus laments her fate 

In sorrow deep and wild, 
A beldam stands before her view, 

And says, in accents mild : 
" What ails thee now, my pretty one, 

Say, what 's the matter, child 1 " 



Soon as she heard the piteous case, 
" Cheer up ! " the beldam said, 

" I '11 spin for thee the pound of flax, 
And thou shalt go to bed. 

If only thou wilt call me ' aunt,' 
The day that thou art wed ! " 



The maiden promised true and fair. 
And when the day was done. 

The queen went in to see the task, 
And found it fairly spun. 

Quoth she, " I love thee passing well. 
And thou shalt wed my son. 



"For one who spins so well as thee 
(In sooth ! 't is wondrous fine !) 

With beauty, too, so very rare, 
And goodness such as thine, 

Should be the daughter of a queen, 
And I will have thee mine ! " 



Now when the wedding-day had come, 
And, decked in royal pride, 

Around the smoking table sat 
The bridegroom and the bride, 

With all the royal kinsfolk, 
And many guests beside. 



In came a beldam, with a frisk ; 

Was ever dame so bold ■? 
Or one so lean and wrinkled. 

So ugly and so old, 
Or with a nose so very long 

And shocking to behold 1 



XVII. 

Now while they sat in wonderment 

This curious dame to see. 
She said unto the Princess, 

As bold as bold could be : 
" Good morrow, gentle lady ! " 

" Good morrow, Aunt ! " quoth she. 



The Prince with gay demeanor. 

But with an inward groan. 
Then bade her sit at table. 

And said, in friendly tone, 
" If you 're my bride's relation, 

Why, then you are my own ! " 

XIX. 

When dinner now was ended. 

As you may well suppose. 
The Prince still thought about his Aunt, 

And still his wonder rose 
Where could the ugly beldam 

Have got so long a nose. 



At last he plainly asked her, 
Before that merry throng, 

And she as plainly answered 

(Nor deemed his freedom wrong) : 

"'T was spinning, in my girlhood. 
That made my nose so long." 



" Indeed ! " exclaimed his Highness, 
And then and there he swore : 

" Though spinning made me husband 
To her whom I adore. 

Lest she should spoil her beauty, 
Why, she shall spiu no more ! " 



THE THREE GIFTS. 

A TALE OF NORTH GEEMANY. 

Three gentlemen mounted their horses 
one day. 
And far in the country they rode. 
Till they came to a cottage, that stood by 
the way. 
Where an honest old weaver abode. 

This honest old weaver was wretchedly 
poor. 
Yet he never was surly or sad ; 



TEE THREE GIFTS. 



121 



He welcomed the travelers into his 
door, 
And gave them the best that he had. 

They ate and they drank, till the weaver 
began 
To fear that they never would cease ; 
But wheu they had finished, they gave 
to the man 
A hundred gold guineas apiece. 

Then the gentlemen mounted their 
horses again, 
And, bidding the weaver " Good 
night," 
Went dashing away over valley and 
plain. 
And were presently lost to his sight. 

Sure never was weaver so happy be- 
fore, 
And never seemed guineas so bright ; 
He counted the pieces a hundred times 
o'er, 
With more than a miser's deliglit. 

Then snug in some rags he hid them 
away, 
As if he had got therfi by stealth, 
Lest his meddlesome wife, who was ab- 
sent that day, 
Should know of his wonderful wealth. 

Soon after, a traveling rag-dealer came. 
The rags in the bundle were sold. 

And with them (the woman was little to 
blame) 
The three hundred guineas of gold. 

When a calendar year had vanished and 
fled, 
The gentlemen came as before. 
" Now how does it happen," they mood- 
ily said, 
" We find you so wretchedly poor 1 " 

" Alas ! " said the weaver, " this many a 
day 

The money is missing, in sooth ; 
In a bundle of rags it was hidden away, 

('Fore God ! I am telling the truth.) 

" But once, in my absence, a rag-dealer 
came. 
The rags in the bundle were sold. 
And with them (the woman was surely 
to blame) 
The three hundred guineas of gold." 



" It was foolishly done," the gentlemen 
swore ; 
" Now, prithee, be careful of these." 
And they gave him again, the same as 
before, 
A hundred gold guineas apiece. 

Then the gentlemen mounted their 
horses again. 
And, bidding the weaver " Good 
night," 
Went dashing away over valley and 
plain, 
And were presently lost to his 
sight. 

" r faith," said the weaver, " no wonder 
they chid ; 
But now I am wiser, I trust." 
So the three hundred guineas he care- 
fully hid 
Far down in a barrel of dust. 

But soon, in his absence, a dust-man 
came. 
The dust in the bari-el was sold ; 
And with it (the woman was little to 
blame) 
The three hundred guineas of gold. 

When a calendar year had vanished and 
fled. 
The gentlemen came'as before. 
" Now how does it happen," they an- 
grily said, 
" We find you so wretchedly poor 1 " 

" Was ever," he cried, " so luckless a 
wiglit ? 
As surely as Heaven is just. 
The money I hid from my spouse's 
sight 
Far down in a barrel of dust ; 

" But when I was absent the dust-mau 
came, 
The dust in the barrel was sold. 
And with it (the woman was surely to 
blame) 
The three hundred guineas of gold." 

" Take that for your folly ! " the gentle- 
men said ; 
" Was ever so silly a wight ? " 
And they tossed on the table a lump of 
lead, 
And were presently out of his 
sight. 



122 



THE WIFE'S REVENGE. 



" 'T is plain," said the weaver, " they 
meant to flout, 
And little I marA^el ; alas ! — 
My wife is a fool ; and there is n't a 
doubt 
That I am an arrant ass ! " 

While thus he was musing in sorrow and 
shame, 

And wishing that he were dead, 
Into his cottage a fisherman came 

To borrow a lump of lead. 

" Ah ! here," he cried, " is the thing I 
wish 

To mend my broken net ; 
Will you give it me for the finest fish 

That I this day may get ? " 

" With all my heart ! " the weaver re- 
plies ; 

And so the fisherman brought 
That night a fish of wondrous size, — 

The finest that he had caught. 

He opened the fish, when lo and be- 
hold ! 

He found a precious stone, — 
A diamond large as the lead he sold , 

And bright as the morning sun ! 

For a thousand guineas the stone he 
sold 

(It was worth a hundred more) , 
And never, 't is said, in bliss or gold, 

Was weaver so rich before. 

But often — to keep her sway, no 
doiibt, 
As a genuine woman must — 
The wife would say, " I brought it 
about 
By selling the rags and dust ! " 



THE WIFE'S EEVENGE. 



FKOM THE SPANISH. 



" Once on a time " there fiourished in 
Madrid 
A painter, clever, and the pet of 
Fame, 
Don Jose, — but the rest were better hid ; 
So please accept the simple Christian 
name, 



Only, to keep my verse from being pro- 
sy. 

Pray mind your Spanish, and pro- 
nounce it, Hozy. 



Don Jose', — who, it seems, had lately 
won 
Much praise and cash, — to crown a 
lucky week, 
Eesolved for once to have a little fun. 
To ease him of his easel, — so to 
speak ; 
And so, in honor of his limning labors. 
He gave a party to his artist-neighbors. 



A strange affair ; for not a woman came 
To grace the table ; e'en the painter's 
spouse, 
Donna Casilda, a most worthy dame. 
Was, rather roughly, told to quit the 
house. 
And go and gossip, for the evening, 

down 
Among her cousins in the lower town. 



The lady went ; but presently came 

back. 
For mirth or mischief, with a jolly 

cousin, 
And sought a closet, where an ample 

crack 
Revealed the revelers, sitting by the 

dozen, 
Discussing wine and — Art 1 — No, 

" women folks ! " 
In senseless satire and indecent jokes. 



" Women ? " said Jose', " what do wom- 
en know 
Of poetry or painting ? " (" Hear him 
talk ! " 

Whispered the list'ners.) "When did 
woman show 
A ray of genius in the higher walk 

Of either 1 No ; to them the gods im- 
part 

Arts, — quite enough, — but deuce a hit 
of Art ! " 



("Wretch!" cried the ladies.) "Yes," 
said Jose, " take 
Away from women love-intrigues aud 
kll 



THE WIFE'S REVENGE. 



123 



The cheap disguises they are wont to 
make 
To hide their spots, — they 'd sing 
extremely small ! " 

(" Fool ! " said his spouse, " we '11 set- 
tle, by and by, 

Who sings the smallest, villain, — you 
or I ! ") 



To make the matter worse, the jovial 
guests 
Were duly mindful not to be exceeded 

In coarse allusions and unsavory jests, 
But — following Jose — talked, of 
course, as he did ; 

I 've been, myself, to many a bachelor- 
party. 

And found them, mainly, less refined 
than hearty. 



The party over, full of inward ire, 

Casilda plotted, silently and long. 
Some fitting vengeance. Women seldom 
tire 
In their resentments, whether right or 
wrong : 
In classic authors we are often warned 
There 's nought so savage as a woman 
scorned." 



Besides, Casilda, be it known, had much 
Of what the French applaud — and 
not amiss — 
As savoir-faire (I do not know the 
Dutch) ; 
The literal Germans call it Mutterwiss, 
The Yankees gumption, and the Gre- 
cians nous, — 
A useful thing to have about the house. 



At length the lady hit upon a plan 
Worthy of Hermes for its deep dis- 
guise ; 
She got a carpenter, — a trusty man, — 
To make a door, and of a certain size. 
With curious carvings and heraldic 

bands, 
And bade him wait her ladyship's com- 
mands. 



Then falling sick, — as gentle ladies 
know 
The ready art, unless romances lie, — 



She groaned aloud, and bade Don Jose go. 
And quickly, too, — or she should 
surely die, — 

And fetch her nurse, — a woman who 
abode 

Some three miles distant by the near- 
est road. 



With many a frown and many a bitter 
curse 
He heard the summons. 'Twas a 
pretty hour. 

He said, to go a-gadding for a nurse ! 
At twelve at night ! — and in a drench- 
ing shower ! 

He 'd never go, — unless the devil 
sent, — 

And then Don Jose took his hat and 
went! 

XIII. 

A long, long hour he paced the dirty 
street 
Where dwelt the nurse, but could n't 
find the place ; 

For he had lost the number; and his 
feet. 
Though clad in leather, made a boot- 
less chase ; 

He fain had questioned some one ; all 
in vain, — 

The very thieves were fearful of the 
rain! 



Returning homeward from his weary 
tramp. 
He reached his house, — or where his 
house should be ; 

When, by the glimmer of the entry- 
lamp, 
Don Jose saw — and marveled much 
to see — 

An ancient, strange, and most fantastic 
door. 

The like whereof he 'd never seen be- 
fore ! 



" Now, by Our Lady ! this is mighty 
queer ! " 
Cried Jose, staring at the graven 
wood, 
" I know my dwelling stands exactly 
here ; 
At least, I 'm certain here is where it 
stood 



124 



TEE DERVIS AND HIS ENEMIES. 



Two hours ago, when (here he gave a 

curse) 
Donna Casilda sent me for the nurse. 



" I know the houses upon either side ; 
There stands the dwelling of the un- 
dertaker ; 
ffere my good friend Morena lived and 
died; 
And here 's the shop of old Trappal, 
the baker ; 
And yet, as sure as iron is n't brass, 
' Tis not my door, or I 'm a precious ass ! 

XVII. 

" However, I will knock " ; and so he did, 
And called, " Casilda ! " loud enough 
to rouse 

The very dullest watchman in Madrid ; 
But woke, instead, the porter of the 
house, 

Who rudely asked him, where he got 
his beer ? 

And bade him, " Go ! — there 's no Cas- 
ilda here ! " 

XVIII. 

Don Jose crossed himself in dire dismay, 
Lest he had lost his reason, or his 
sight ; 

At least 't was certain he had lost his way ; 
And, hoping sleep might set the mat- 
ter right. 

He sought and found the dwelling of a 
friend 

Who lived in town, — quite at the other 
end. 



Next morning Jose, rising with the sun, 
Returned, once more, to seek the miss- 
ing house ; 
And there it stood, as it had always done. 
And there stood also his indignant 
spouse 
With half her city cousins at her back, 
Waiting to put poor Jose on the rack. 



" A charming husband, yow .' " the dame 
began, 
" To leave your spouse in peril of her 
life, 
For tavern revelers ! You 're a pretty 
man. 
Thus to desert your lawful, wedded 
wife, 



And spend your nights — villain ! 

— don't explain, 
I'll be revenged if there is law in 

S^jain ! " 

XXI. 

" Nay, Madam, hear me ! — just a single 
word " — 
And then he told her of his fruitless 
search 

To find the beldam; and of what oc- 
curred, — 
How his own house had left him in the 
lurch ! 

Here such a stream of scorn came pour- 
ing in, 

Don Jose''s voice was smothered in the 
din. 



"Nay," said Casilda, "that will never 
do; 
Your own confession plainly puts you 
down ! 

Say you were tipsy (it were nothing 
new). 
And spent the night carousing 
through the town 

With other topers; that may be re- 
ceived ; 

But, faith ! your tale will never be be- 
lieved ! " 

XXIII. 

Crazed with the clamor of the noisy 

crew 
All singing chorus to the injured 

dame. 
Say, what the deuce could poor Don 

Jose' do ■? — 
He prayed for pardon, and confessed 

his shame ; 
And gave no dinners, in his future life, 
Without remembering to invite his wife ! 



THE DERVIS AND HIS ENE- 
MIES. 

A TITRKISH LEGEND. 



Near Babylon, in ancient times. 

There dwelt a humble, pious Dervis, 
Who lived on alms, and spent his days 
In exhortation, prayer, and praise, — 
Devoted to the Prophet's service. 



THE DERVIS AND HIS ENEMIES. 



125 



To him, one day, a neighbor sent 
A gift extremely rare and pleasant, — 

A fatted ox of goodly size ; 

Whereat the grateful Dervis cries, 
" Allah be praised for this fine pres- 
ent ! " 



So large a gift were hard to hide ; 

Nor was he careful to conceal it ; 
Indeed, a thief had chanced to spy 
The ox as he was passing by, 

And so resolved to go and steal it. 



Now while he sought, with this intent, 

The owner's humble habitation, 
He met a stranger near the place. 
Who seemed, to judge him by his face, 
A person of his own vocation. 



And so the thief, as one who knew 

What to a brother-rogue was owing, 
Politely bade the man " Good day," 
And asked him, in a friendly way, 
His name, and whither he was go- 
ing. 



The stranger bowed, and gruffly said : 

" My name is Satan, at your service ! 
And I am going. Sir, to kill 
A man who lives near yonder hill, — 
A fellow called the ' Holy Dervis.' 



" I hate him as a mortal foe ; 

For, spite of me and Nature's bias, 
There 's scarce a knave in all these parts 
But this vile Dervis, by his arts. 

Has made him honest, chaste, and 
pious ! " 



" Sir, I am yours ! " the thief replied ; 

" I scorn to live by honest labor ; 
And even now I m on my way 
To steal an ox received to-day 

By this same Dervis from a neigh- 
bor." 



' I 'm glad to see you," said the fiend, 
" You seem, indeed, a younger 
brother ; 



And, faith ! in such a case as this, 
It certainly were much amiss 
If we should fail to aid each other ! " 



While thus discoursing, sooth to say. 

Each knave had formed the resolution 
(Lest aught occur to mar his plan) 
To be himself the foremost man 
To put his scheme in execution. 



" For," said the thief unto himself, 

" Before his work is half completed. 
The Dervis, murdered where he lies. 
Will rouse the neighbors with his cries, 
And so my plan will be defeated ! " 



" If he goes first," the other thought, 

" His cursed ox may chance to bellow ; 
Or else, in breaking through the door. 
He '11 wake the Dervis with the roar, 
And I shall fail to kill the fellow ! " 



So when they reached the hermit's 
house, 

The devil whispered, quite demurely, 
" While I go in, you stand without ; 
My job dispatched, we'll go about 

The other business more securely." 



" Nay," said the robber, " I protest 

I don't at all approve the measure ; 
This seems to me the better plan : 
Just wait till I have robbed the man, 
Then you may kill him at your lei- 
sure." 



Now when, at last, they both refused 
To yield the point in controversy, 
To such a height the quarrel rose, 
From words and threats they came to 
blows, 
And beat each other without mercy ! 



Perceiving that the devil's strokes 
Surpassed his own in weight and 
number. 
The thief, before he took to flight. 
Cried, " Murder ! help ! " with all his 
might, 
And roused the Dervis from his 
slumber. 



126 



RAMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. 



" Thieves ! thieves ! " cried Satan, going 
off 

(To figure at some tavern-revel). 
And so by this fraternal strife 
The Dervis saved his ox and life. 

Despite the robber and the devil ! 



RAMPSINITUS AND THE ROB- 
BERS. 

AN EGYPTIAN TALE. 

In charming old Herodotus, 

If you were college-bred. 
The Tale of Rampsinitus 

You may, perchance, have read ; 
If not, 't is little matter, — 

You may read it here instead. 

This Rampsinitus was a king 

Who lived in days of old, 
And, finding that his treasury 

Was quite too small to hold 
His jewels and his money-bags 

Of silver and of gold. 

He built a secret chamber, 

With this intent alone 
(That is, he got an architect 

And caused it to be done), 
A most substantial structure 

Of mortar and of stone. 

A very solid building 

It appeared to every eye, 
Except the master-mason's. 

Who plainly could espy 
One stone that fitted loosely 

When the masonry was dry. 

A dozen years had vanished, 
When, in the common way. 

The architect was summoned 
His final debt to pay ; 

And thus unto his children 
The dying man did say : — 

" Come hither now, my darling sons. 
Come, list my children twain, 

I have a little secret 
I am going to explain ; 

'T is a comfort, now I 'm dying, 
That I have n't lived in vain." 



And then he plainly told them 
Of the trick that he had done ; 

How in the royal chamber 

He had put a sliding stone, — 

" You '11 find it near the bottom. 
On the side that 's next the sun. < 

" Now I feel that I am going ; 

Swift ebbs the vital tide ; 
No longer in this wicked world 

My spirit may abide." 
And so this worthy gentleman 

Turned up his toes and died. 

It was n't long before the sons 

Improved the father's hint. 
And searched the secret chamber 

To discover what was in 't ; 
And found, by self-promotion, 

They were " Masters of the Mint ! " 

At length King Rampsinitus 
Perceived, as well he might. 

His caskets and his money-bags 
Were getting rather light ; 

" And yet," quoth he, " my bolts and bars 
Are all exactly right ! 

" I wonder how the cunning dog 

Has managed to get in ; 
However, it is clear enough, 

I 'm losing lots of tin ; 
I '11 try the virtue of a trap 

Before the largest bin ! " 

In came the thief that very night, 

And soon the other chap. 
Who waited at the opening, 

On hearing something snap. 
Went in and found his brother 

A-sitting in the trap. 

" You see me in a pretty fix ! " 

The gallant fellow said ; 
" 'T is better, now, that one should die 

Than both of us be dead. 
Lest two should be detected, 

Cut off my foolish head ! " 

" Indeed," replied the other, 
" Such a cut were hardly kind, 

And to obey your order, 
I am truly disinclined ; 

But, as you 're the elder brother, 
I suppose I ought to mind." 

So, with his iron hanger 
He severed, at a slap. 



RAMPSINITUS AND THE ROBBERS. 



127 



The noddle of the victim, 

Which he carried through the gap, 
And left the bleeding body 

A-sitting in the traj). 

His Majesty's amazement 

Of course was very great, 
On entering the chamber 

That held his cash and plate, 
To find the robber's body 

Without a bit of pate ! 

To solve the mighty mystery 
Was now his whole intent ; 

And everywhere, to find the head, 
His officers were sent ; 

But every man came back again 
No wiser than he went. 

At last he set a dozen men 

The mystery to trace ; 
And bade them watch the body 

In a very public place, 
And note what signs of sorrow 

They might see in any face. 

The robber, guessing what it meant. 

Was naturally shy ; 
And, though he mingled in the crowd. 

Took care to " mind his eye," 
For fear his brother's body-guard 

His sorrow should espy. 

"I '11 cheat 'em yet ! " the fellow said ; 

And so that very night, 
He planned a cunning stratagem 

To get the soldiers "tight "; 
And steal away his brother's trunk 

Before the morning light. 

He got a dozen asses, 

And put upon their backs 
As many loads as donkeys 

Of wine in leather sacks ; 
Then set the bags a-leaking 

From a dozen little cracks. 

Then going where the soldiers 
Were keeping watch and ward, 

The fellows saw the leaking wine 
With covetous regard, 

And straightway fell a-drinking, 
And drank extremely hard. 

The owner stormed and scolded 

With well-affected spunk. 
But still they kept a-drinking 

TUl all of them were drunk ; 



And so it was the robber 
Stole off his brother's trunk ! 

Now when King Rampsinitus 

Had heard the latest news, 
'T is said his royal Majesty 

Expressed his royal views 
In language such as gentlemen 

Are seldom known to uoe. 

Now when a year had vanished, 

He formed another plan 
To catch the chap who 'd stolen 

The mutilated man ; 
And summoning the Princess, 

His Majesty began : — 

" My daughtei', hold a masquerade. 

And ofter — as in fun — 
Five kisses (in your chamber) 

To every mother's son 
Who 'II tell the shrewdest mischief 

That he has ever doue.^ 

" If you chance to find the robber 
By the trick that I have planned, 

Remember, on the instant, 
To seize him by the hand, 

Then await such further orders 
As your father may command." 

The Princess made the party. 

Without the least dissent. 
'T was a general invitation, 

And everybody went, — 
The robber with the others, 

Though he guessed the king's intent. 

Now when the cunning robber 
Was questioned, like the rest, ' 

He said : " Your Royal Highness, 
I solemnly protest 

Of all my subtle rogueries, 
I scarce know which is best ; 

" But I venture the opinion, 

'T was a rather pretty job, 
When, having with my hanger 

Cut off my brother's nob, 
I managed from the soldiers 

His headless trunk to rob ! " 

And now the frightened Princess 

Gave a very heavy groan, 
For, to her consternation, 

The cunning thief had flown, 
And left the hand she grappled 

Still lying in her own ! 



128 



POOR TARTAR. 



(For he a hand had horrowed, 

'T is needful to be said, 
From the body of a gentleman 

That recently was dead, 
And tliat he gave the Princess 

The moment that he fled !J 

Then good R'ng Rampsinitus 

Incontinently swore 
That this paragon of robbers 

He would persecute no more 
For such a clever rascal 

Had never lived before ! 

And in that goodly company, 

His Majesty declared 
That if the thief would show himself 

His person should be spared, 
And with his only daughter 

In marriage should be paired ! 

And when King Rampsinitus 

Had run his mortal lease. 
He left them in his testament 

Just half a crown apiece ; 
May every modest merit 

Thus flourish and increase ! 



POOR TARTAR. 



A HUNGARIAN LEGEND. 



There 's trouble in Hungary, now, 

alas ! 
There 's trouble on every hand ! 

For that terrible man, 

The Tartar Khan, 
Is ravaging over the land ! 



He is riding forth with his ugly men, 
To rob and ravish and slay; 

For deeds like those, 

You may well suppose. 
Are quite in the Tartar-way. 



And now he comes, that terrible chief, 
To a mansion grand and old ; 

And he peers about 

Within and without. 
And what do his eyes behold ? 



A thousand cattle in fold and field. 
And sheep all over the plain ; 



And noble steeds 
Of rarest breeds, 
And beautiful crops of grain. 



But finer still is the hoarded wealth 
That his ravished eyes behold ; 

In silver plate 

Of wondrous weight, 
And jewels of pearl and gold ! 



A nobleman owns this fine estate ; 
And when the robber he sees, 

'T is not very queer 

He quakes with fear, 
And trembles a bit in the knees. 



He quakes in fear of his precious life, 
And, scarce suppressing a groan, 

" Good Tartar," says he, 

" Whatever you see 
Be pleased to reckon your own ! " 



The Khan looked round in a leisurely 

way 
As one who is puzzled to choose ; 

When, cocking his ear. 

He chanced to hear 
The creak of feminine shoes. 



The Tartar smiled a villainous smile. 
When, like a lily in bloom, 

A lady fair 

With golden hair 
Came gliding into the room. 



The robber stared with amorous eyes ; 
Was ever so winning a face ? 

And long he gazed 

As one amazed 
To see such beauty and grace. 

XI. 

A moment more, and the lawless man 
Had seized his struggling prey. 

Without remorse. 

And taking horse 
He bore the lady away. 



" Now Heaven be praised ! " the noble- 
man cried, 
" For many a mercy to me ! 



THE FOUR MISFORTUNES. 



129 



I bow me still 
Unto his will, — 
God pity the Tartar ! " said he. 



THE FOUR MISFORTUNES. 



A HEBREW TALE. 



A Piotrs Eabbi, forced by heathen hate 
To quit the boundaries of his native 
land, 
Wandered abroad, submissive to his 
fate, 
Through pathless woods and wastes 
of buruing sand. 



A patient ass, to bear him in his flight, 
A dog, to guard him from the robber's 
stealth, 
A lamp, by which to read the law at 
night, — 
Was all the pilgrim's store of worldly 
wealth. 



At set of sun he reached a little town, 
And asked for shelter and a crumb of 
food ; 
But every face repelled him with a 
frown. 
And so he sought a lodging in the 
wood. 

ly. 

" 'T is very hard," the weary traveler 
said, 
"And most inhospitable, I protest, 
To send me fasting to this forest bed ; 
But God is good, and means it for the 
best ! " 



He lit his lamp to read the sacred law. 
Before he spread his mantle for the 
night; 
But the wind rising with a sudden flaw, 
He read no more, — the gust put out 
the light. 



' 'T is strange," he said, " 't is very 
strange, indeed. 
That ere I lay me down to take my 
rest. 



A chapter of the law I may not read, — 
But God is good, and all is for the best." 



With these consoling words the Eabbi 
tries 
To sleep, his head reposing on a log, 
But, ere he fairly shut his drowsy eyes, 
A wolf came up and killed his faith- 
ful doo;. 



" What new calamity is this ? " he 
cried ; 
" My honest dog — a friend who stood 
the test 
When others failed — lies murdered at 
my side ! 
Well, ■ — God is good, and means it 
for the best 1 " 



Scarce had the Rabbi spoken, when, 
alas! 
As if, at once, to crown his wretched 
lot, 
A hungry lion pounced upon the ass. 
And killed the faithful donkey on the 
spot. 



" Alas ! alas ! " the weeping Eabbi 
said, 
" Misfortune haunts me like a hateful 
guest ; 
My dog is gone, and noAV my ass is 
dead. 
Well, — God is good, and all is for 
the best ! " 



At dawn of day, imploring heavenly 
grace. 
Once more he sought the town; but 
all in vain ; 
A band of robbers had despoiled the 
place. 
And aU the churlish citizens wero 
slain ! 



" Now God be praised ! " the grateful 
Eabbi cried, 
" If I had tarried in the town to rest, 
I too, with these poor villagers, had 
died. 
Sure, God is good, and all is for the 
best! 



130 



THE WANDERING JEW. 



"Had not the wanton wind put out my 
lamp, 
By which the sacred law I would have 
read, 
The light had shown the robbers to my 
camp, 
And here the villains would have left 
me dead. 



" Had not my faithful animals been 
slain, 
Their noise, no doubt, had drawn the 
robbers near. 
And so their master, it is very plain. 
Instead of them, had fallen murdered 
here. 



" Full well I see that this hath hap- 
pened so 
To put my faith and patience to the 
test. 
Thanks to His name ! for now I surely 
know 
That God is good, and all is for the 
best ! " 



THE WANDERING JEW.'? 

A BALLAD. 

Come list, my dear, 

And you shall hear 
About the wonderful Wandering Jew, 

Who night and day. 

The legends say, 
Is taking a journey he never gets 
through. 

What is his name, 

Or whence he came. 
Or whither the weary wanderer goes ; 

Or why he should stray 

In this singular way. 
Many have marveled, but nobody 
knows. 

Though oft, indeed 

(As you may read 
In ancient histories quaint and true), 

A man is seen 

Of haggard mien 
Whom people call the Wandering Jew. 



Once in Brabant, 

With garments scant, 
And shoeless feet, a stranger appeared ; 

His step was slow. 

And white as snow 
Were his waving locks and flowing 
beard. 

His cheek was spare, 

His head was bare ; 
And little he recked of heat or cold ; 

Misfortune's trace 

Was in his face. 
And he seemed at least a century old. 

" Now, goodman, bide," 

The people cried, 
"The night with us, — it were surely best; 

The wind is cold. 

And thou art old, 
And sorely needest shelter and rest ! " 

" Thanks ! thanks ! " said he, 

" It may not be 
That I should tarry the night with you ; 

I cannot stay ; 

I must away. 
For I, alas ! am the Wandering Jew ! " 

" We oft have read," 

The people said, 
" Thou bearest ever a nameless woe ; 

Now prithee tell 

How it befell 
That thou art always wandering so ? " 

" The time would fail 

To tell my tale. 
And yet a little, ere I depart, 

Would I relate 

About my fate, 
For some, perhaps, may lay it to heart. 

" When but a youth 

(And such, in sooth. 
Are ever of giddy and wanton mood). 

With tearless eye 

I saw pass by 
The Saviour bearing a hateful rood. 

" And when he stooped. 
And, groaning, drooped 
And staggered and fell beneath the 
weight, 
I cursed his name. 
And cried, ' For shame ! 
Move on, blasphemer, and meet tliy 
fate ! ' 



THE THREE GOOD DAYS. 



131 



" He raised his head. 

And, smilino:, said : 
' Move on thyself ! In sorrow and pain, 

When I am gone 

Shalt thou move on, 
Nor rest thy foot till I come again ! ' 

" Alas ! the time 

That saw ray crime, — 
'T was more than a thousand years 
ago! 

And since that hour 

Some inward power 
Has kept me wandering to and fro. 

" I fain would die 

That I might lie 
With those who sleep in the silent 
tomb; 

But not for me 

Is rest. — till He 
Shall come to end my dreadful doom. 

" The pestilence 

That hurries hence 
A thousand souls in a single night 

Brings me no death 

Upon its breath, 
But passes by in its wayward flight, 

" The storm that wrecks 
A hundred decks, 
And drowns the shuddering, shrieking 
crew. 
Still leaves afloat 
The fragile boat 
That bears the life of the Wandering 
Jew. 

" But I must away ; 

I cannot stay ; 
Nor further suffer a moment's loss ; 

Heed well the word 

That ye have heard, — 
Nor spurn the Saviour who bore the 
Cross ! " 



THE THREE GOOD DAYS. 

A LEGEND OF ITALY. 

In Casena dwelt a widow ; 

Worldly fortune she had none ; 
Nor a single near relation 

Save her silly, idle son. 



Little heeded he her counsel 

When she bade him stir about, — 

Ever yawning, dozing, sleeping. 
Like a good-for-nothing lout. 

Oft and oft his mother told him 
(Dame Lucetta was her name), 

" Rise, Lucello ! (so she called him), 
Get thee out, — for very shame ! 

" See, the siin is high in heaven ! 

Quit, my boy, your lazy bed ; 
Go and seek some honest labor ; 

So good days shall crown your 
head." 

Much the foolish fellow marveled 
What " good days " might chance to 
be; 

When, at last, the lad determined 
He would even go and see. 

So, next morning, lo ! the sluggard, 

Rising lazily and late, 
Sauntered forth, and on, and onward. 

Till he reached the city gate. 

Here Lucello, tired with walking 

In the sultry summer heat. 
Straightway laid him down to slum- 
ber 

Right across the trodden street ! 

Now it chanced three wicked robbers, 
Coming from the secret place 

Where their stolen wealth was buried, 
Met the stranger face to face. 

And the first, as he was passing, 

Seeing some one in the way 
(For he stumbled on the sleeper), 

Bade him civilly, " Good day ! " 

" There is one ! " Lucello answered. 
Minding what the dame had said. 

How " good days," for good behavior, 
Were to crown his lucky head. 

But the robber, conscience-smitten 
Touching the unlawful pelf. 

Deemed the words the lad had spoken 
Plainly pointed to himself ! 

Soon another robber, passing, 

His " Good day " was fain to give ; 

" Here is luck ! " exclaimed Lucello, 
" That 's the second, as I live ! " 



132 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 



Trembling, now the rogues awaited 

The arrival of the third, 
When again " Good day " was given, 

Which with joy Lucello heard. 

" Number three, by all that 's lucky ! " 
Cried the boy, with keen delight ; 

" My good days are quickly coming ; 
Faith ! the dame was in the right ! ' 

Whereupon the robbers, guessing 
That the lad was well aware 

Of the treasure they had hidden, 
Straightway offered him a share ; 

Which he joyfully accepted. 
And in triumph carried home, 

And with rapture told his mother. 
How his lucky days had come ! 



THE STORY OF ECHO. 

A BEAUTIFUL maiden was Echo, 

As classical history tells, 
A favorite nymph of Diana, 

Who dwelt among forests and dells. 

Now Echo was very loquacious. 

And though she was silly and young, 

It seems that she never was weary 
Of plying her voluble tongue. 

And, I 'm sorry to say in addition, 
Besides her impertinent clack, 

She had, upon every occasion, 
A habit of answering back. 

Though even the wisest of matrons 
In grave conversation was heard, 

Miss Echo forever insisted 

On having the ultimate word, — 

A fault so exceedingly hateful. 
That Juno (whom Echo betrayed 

While the goddess was hearing the bab- 
ble) 
Determined to punish the maid. 

Said she : " In reward of your folly, 
Henceforth in vain you will try 

To talk in the manner of others ; 
At best, you can only i-eply ! " 

A terrible punishment truly 
For one of so lively a turn, 



And it brought the poor maiden to 
ruin ; 
The way you shall presently learn. 

For, meeting the handsome Narcissus, 
And wishing his favor to gain. 

Full often she tried to address him, 
But always endeavored in vain. 

And when, as it finally happened, 
He spoke to the damsel one day, 

Her answers seemed only to mock 
him. 
And drove him in anger away. 

Ah ! sad was the fate of poor Echo, — 
Was ever so hapless a maid ? 

She wasted away in her sorrow 
Until she was wholly decayed. 

But her voice is still living immor- 
tal,— 
The same you have frequently heard, 
In your rambles in valleys and for- 
ests, 
Repeating your ultimate word ! 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 

Two College Professors, — I won't give 

their names 
(Call one of them Jacob, the other one 

James), — 
Two College Professors, who ne'er in 

their lives 
Had wandered before from the care of 

their wives. 
One day in vacation, when lectures were 

through, 
And teachers and students had nothing 

to do. 
Took it into their noddles to go to the 

Races, 
To look at the nags, and examine their 

paces. 
And find out the meaning of " bolting " 

and " baiting," 
And the (clearly preposterous) practice 

of "waiting," 
And "laying long odds," and the other 

queer capers 
Which cram the reports that appear in 

the papers ; 
And whether a " stake " is the same as 

a post ? 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 



133 



And how far a " heat " may resemble a 

roast 7 
And whether a "hedge," in the lan- 
guage of sport, 
Is much like the plain agricultural 

sort? 
And if "making a book" is a thing 

which requires 
A practical printer? and who are the 

buyers 1 — 
Such matters as these, — very proper to 

know, — 
And no thought of betting, induced 

them to go 
To the Annual Races, which then were 

in force 
(Horse-racing, in fact, is a matter of 

course, 
Apart from the pun) in a neighboring 

town ; 
And so, as I said, the Professors went 

down. 
The day was the finest that ever was 

known ; 
The atmosphere just of that temperate 

tone 
Which pleases the Spirit of (man and) 

the Times, 
But impossible, quite, to describe in my 

rhymes. 
The track had been put in a capital 

plight 
By a smart dash of rain on the previous 

night, - 
And all things " went off " — save some 

of the horses — 
As lively as crickets or Kansas divorces ! 

Arrived at the ground, it is easy to 
guess 

Our worthy Professors' dismay and dis- 
tress 

At all the queer things Avhich expanded 
their eyes 

(Not to mention their ears) to a won- 
derful size ! 

How they stared at the men who were 
playing at poker. 

And scolded the chap with the " sly 
little joker "; 

And the boy who had " something un- 
commonly nice," 

Which he offered to sell at a very high 
price, — 

A volume that did n't seem over-re- 
fined. 

And clearly was not of the Sunday-school 
kind. 



All this, and much more, — but your 

patience will fail, 
Unless I desist, and go on with my 

tale. 

Our worthy Professors no sooner had 
found 

Their (ten-shilling) seats in the circular 
ground. 

And looked at the horses, — when, pres- 
ently, came 

A wish to know what was the Favorite's 
name ; 

And how stood the betting, — quite plain- 
ly revealing 

The old irrepressible horse-race-y feel- 
ing 

Which is born in the bone, and is apt to 
come out 

When thorough-bred coursers are snort- 
ing about. 

The Professors, in fact, — I am grieved 

to report, — 
At the very first match entered into the 

sport. 
And bet (with each other) their money 

away — 
Just Fifty apiece — on the Brown and 

the Bay ; 
And shouted as loud as they ever could 

bellow, 
" Hurrah for the filly ! " and " Go it, 

old fellow ! " 
And, " Stick to your business ! " and 

" Rattle your pegs ! " — 
Like a jolly old brace of professional 

" Legs ! " 

The race being over, quoth Jacob, "I 
see 

My wager is forfeit ; to that T agree 

The Fifty is yours, by the technical 
rules 

Observed, I am told, by these horse- 
racing fools ; 

But then, as a Christian, — I 'm sorry 
to say it, — 

My Conscience, you know, won't allow 
me to pay it ! " 

" No matter," quoth James, " I can 

hardly refuse 
To accord with your sound theological 

views : 
A tardy repentance is better than none ; 
I must tell you, however, 't was your 

horse that won ! 



134 



THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 



But of course you won't think of de- 
manding the pelf, 

For I have a conscience as well as your- 
self!" 



THE ORIGIN OF WINE. 

A GERMAN LEGEND. 
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO 0. M. TINKHAM, 



Te friends of good cheer, I pray you 
give ear ; 
I sing of old Noah who planted the 
vine ; 
But first, if you please, our thirst to ap- 
pease, 
Let 's drink to his health in a bumper 
of wine ! 



"When the Deluge was o'er, and good 
Father Noah 
Sat moping one day in the shade of a 
tree, 
An Angel came near, and thinking it 
queer. 
Said : " Tell me, I pray, what the 
matter may be." 



Says Noah : " I 'm curst with a horrible 
thirst ; 
So painful, indeed, I am ready to 
sink ; 
I have plenty to eat, there 's no lack of 
meat; 
But, sir, on my honor, I 've nothing 
to drink ! " 



" See, on every side," the Angel replied, 
" There is water enough both in river 
and rill. 
Your fever to slake, — not to mention 
the lake. 
And many a fountain that flows from 
the hill." 



Says Noah : " I know the waters still 
flow, 
But the Deluge has ruined the fluid 
for drink ; 



So many bad men were soaked in it 
then. 
The water now tastes of the sinners, 
I think." 



" It can't be denied," the Angel re- 
plied, 
" There is something of reason in 
what you have said ; 
Since the water is bad, it is fitting you 
had 
A good wholesome tipple to drink in 
its stead," 



Then flying away, the very next day 
The Angel came back with a handful 
of seeds; 
And taught the good man the properest 
plan 
Of planting, and hoeing, and killing 
the weeds. 

VIII. 

Ah ! what color and shape ! 't is the 
beautiful grape ; 
In clusters of purple they hang from 
the vine ; 
And these being pressed, it is easily 
guessed 
Old Noah thenceforward drank noth- 
ing but wine. 



So, a cup ere we part to the man of our 
heart. 
Old Noah, the primitive grower of 
wine ; 
And one brimming cup (nay, fill it quite 
np) 
To the Angel who gave him the seed 
of the vine ! 



THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 



Once on a time there flourished in Nev- 
ers. 
Within a nunnery of godly note, 
A famous parrot, so exceeding fair 

In the deep lustre of his emerald coat, 
They called him Ver-Vert, — syllables 

that mean 
In English much the same as Double 
Green. 



THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 



135 



In youth transplanted from an Indian 
strand, 
For his soul's health with Christian 
folks to dwell, 
His morals yet were pure, his manners 
bland ; 
Gay, handsome, brilliant, and, the 
truth to tell, 
Pert and loquacious, as became his age ; 
In short, well worthy of his holy cage. 



Dear to the sisters for his winning 

ways 
Was gay Ver-Vert ; they kept him 

ever near. 
And kindly taught him many a holy 

phrase. 
Enforced with tidbits from their daily 

cheer. 
And loved him better, they would oft 

declare. 
Than any one, except their darling 

Mere ! 



Ah ! ne'er was parrot happier than 

he; 
And happy was the lucky girl of 

whom 
He asked — according as his whim 

might be — 
The privilege at eve to share her 

room. 
Where, perched upon the relics, he 

would sleep 
Through the long night in slumber calm 

and deep. 



At length, what joy to see! — the bird 
had grown. 
With good example, thoughtful and 
devout. 

He said his prayers in such a nasal 
tone, 
His piety was quite beyond a doubt ; 

And some declared that soon, with prop- 
er teaching. 

He 'd rival the Superior at preaching ! 



If any laughed to see his solemn ways, 
In curt rebuke, " Orate ! " * he replied ; 

* Pray ! 



And when his zeal provoked a shower 
of praise, 
" Deo sit laus ! " f the humble novice 
cried ; 

And many said they did n't mind con- 
fessing 

His " Pax sit tecum "! | brought a spe- 
cial blessing. 



Such wondrous talents, though awhile 
concealed, 
Could not be kept in secrecy forever ; 

Some babling nun the precious truth re- 
vealed. 
And all the town must see a bird so 
clever ; 

Until at last so wide the wonder grew, 

'T was fairly bruited all the country 
through. 



And so it fell, by most unlucky chance, 

A distant city of the parrot heard ; 
The story reached some sister-nuns at 
Nantz, 
Who fain themselves would see this 
precious bird 
Whose zeal and learning had sufficed to 

draw 
On blest Nevers such honor and Alat. 



What could they do 1 — well, here is 
what they did, 
To the good Abbess presently there 
went 

A friendly note, in which the writers 
bid 
A thousand blessings hasten their de- 
scent 

Upon her honored house, — and would 
she please 

To grant a favor asked upon their 
knees 1 



'T was only this, that she would deign 
to lend 
For a brief space that charming paro- 
quet ; 
They hoped the bold request might not 
offend 
Her ladyship, but then they fain 
would get 



t Praise be to God. 
$ Peace be with you. 



136 



THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 



Such proof as only he could well ad- 
vance 
To silence certain skeptic nuns of Nantz. 



The letter came to hand, and such a 
storm 
Of pious wrath was never heard be- 
fore ; 

The mildest sister waxed exceeding 
warm, — 
" Perdre Ver-Vert, del! plutdt la 
mort ! " 

They all broke forth in one terrific cry, 

What ? — lose their darling ? — they 
would rather die ! 



But, on reflection, it was reckoned best 
To take the matter into grave debate, 
And put the question fairly to the test 
(Which seemed, indeed, a nice affair 
of state), 
If they should lend their precious pet 

or not ; 
And so they held a session, long and hot. 



The sisters all with one accord express 
Their disapproval in a noisy " No ! " 
The graver dame — who loved the par- 
rot less — 
Declared, Perhaps 't were best to let 
him go ; 
Refusal was ungracious, and, indeed. 
An ugly quarrel might suffice to breed. 



Vain was the clamor of the younger set ; 
" Just fifteen days and not a mo- 
ment more " 

(Mamma decided) "we will lend our 
pet; 
Of course his absence we shall aU de- 
plore, 

But then, remember, he is only lent 

For two short weeks," — and off the 
parrot went ! 

XV. 

In the same bark that bore the bird 
away 
Were several Gascons and a vulgar 
nurse. 
Besides two Cyprian ladies; sooth to 
say, 
Ver- Vert's companions could n't have 
been worse. 



Small profit such a youth might hope to 
gain 

From wretches so licentious and pro- 
fane. 



Their manners struck him as extremely 

queer ; 
Such oaths and curses he had never 

heard 
As now in volleys stunned his saintly 

ear; 
Although he did n't understand a 

word, 
Their conversation seemed improper, 

very, 
To one brought up within a monastery. 

XVII. 

For his, remember, was a Christian 

tongue 
Unskilled in aught save pious prose 

or verse 
By his good sisters daily said or 

sung ; 
And now to hear the Gascons and the 

nurse 
Go on in such a roaring, ribald way, 
He knew not what to think, nor what 

to say. 

XVIII. 

And so he mused in silence ; till at 
last 
The nurse reproached him for a sul- 
len fool. 

And poured upon him a terrific blast 
Of questions, such as, where he 'd 
been to school 1 

And was he used to traveling about ? 

And did his mother know that he was 
out? 



"Ave Maria !^'* said the parrot, — 

vexed 
By so much banter into sudden 

speech, — 
Whereat all laughed to hear the holy 

text. 
And cried, " By Jove ! the chap is 

going to preach ! " 
" Come," they exclaimed, " let 's have a 

song instead." 
" Cantate Domino ! " t the parrot said. 

* Hail Mary. 

t Let us sing unto the Lord. 



THE PARROT OF NEVERS. 



137 



At this reply they laughed so loud and 

long 
That poor Ver-Vert was fairly 

stricken dumb. 
In vain they teased him for a merry 

song; 
Abashed by ridicule and quite o'er- 

come 
With, virulent abuse, the wretched bird 
For two whole days refused to speak a 

word. 

XXI. 

Meanwhile he listened to their vile dis- 
course 
In deep disgust ; but still the stranger 
thought 

Their slang surpassed in freedom, pith, 
and force 
The purer language which the missal 
taught. 

And seemed, besides, an easier tongue 
to speak 

Than prayer-book Latin or monastic 
Greek. 

XXII. 

In short, to tell the melancholy truth. 
Before the boat had reached its des- 
tined shore 

He who embarked a pure, ingenuous 
youth, 
Had grown a profligate, and cursed 
and swore 

Such dreadful oaths as e'en the Gascons 
heard 

With shame, and said, " The Devil 's 
in the bird ! " 

XXIII. 

At length the vessel has arrived in port 
And half the sisterhood are waiting 
there 
To greet their guest, and safely to es- 
cort 
To their own house the wonderful 
Ver-Vert, — 
The precious parrot whom their fancies 

paint 
Crowned with halo like a very saint ! 

XXIV. 

Great was the clamor when their eyes 
beheld 
The charming stranger in the emerald 
coat ; 



" Ver-Vert, indeed ! " — his very hue 

compelled 
A shout of praise that reached the 

highest note. 
" And then such eyes ! and such a 

graceful walk ! 
And soon — what rapture ! — we shall 

hear him talk ! " 



At length the Abbess, in a nasal chant 
(Intended, doubtless, for a pretty 
speech). 
Showered him Avith thanks that he had 
deigned to grant 
His worthy presence there, and to be- 
seech 
His benediction in such gracious terms 
As might befit the sinfulest of worms. 



Alas for youthful piety ! the bird. 
Still thinking o'er the lessons latest 
learned, 
For a full minute answered not a word. 
And then, as if to show how much he 
spurned 
The early teachings of his holy school. 
He merely muttered, " Curse the silly 
fool ! " 

XXVII. 

The lady, startled at the queer remark, 
Could not but think that she had 
heard amiss ; 

And so began to speak again, — but 
hark ! 
What diabolic dialect is this 1 — 

Such language for a saint was most im- 
proper. 

Each word an oath, and every oath a 
whopper ! 

XXVIII. 

" Parhleu ! " " Morhleu ! " and every 
azure curse 
To pious people strictly disallowed, 
Including others that were vastly worse. 
Came rattling forth on the astonished 
crowd 
In such a storm that one might well 

compare 
The dreadful volley to a/ew d'enfer ! 



All stood aghast in horror and dismay ; 
Some cried, " For shame ! is that the 
way they teach 



138 



KING SOLOMON AND THE BEES. 



Their pupils at Nevers 1 " Some ran 
away, 
Eending the welkin with a piercing 
screech ; 

Some stopt their ears for modesty ; and 
some 

(Though shocked) stood waiting some- 
thing worse to come, 

XXX. 

In brief, the dame, replete with holy 

rage 
At being thus insulted and disgraced, 
Shut up the hateful parrot in his 

cage. 
And sent him back with all con- 

Tenient haste 
And this indignant note : "In time to 

come 
Be pleased to keep your pi-ecious prize 

at home ! " 

XXXI. 

When to Nevers the wicked wanderer 
came. 
All were delighted at his quick re- 
turn ; 

But who can paint their sorrow and 
their shame 
"When the sad truth the gentle sisters 
learn, 

That he who left them chanting pious 
verses. 

Now greets his friends with horrid oaths 
and curses ! 

XXXII. 

'T is said that after many bitter days 
In wholesome solitude and penance 
passed, 
Ver-Vert grew meek, reformed his 
wicked ways. 
And died a hopeful penitent at last. 
The moral of my story is n't deep, — 
" Young folks, beware what company 
you keep ! " 



KING SOLOMON AND THE BEES. 



A TALE OF THE TALMUD. 



When Solomon was reigning in his 
glory. 
Unto his throne the Queen of Sheba 
came 



(So in the Talmud you may read the 

story), 
Drawn by the magic of the monarch's 

fame. 
To see the splendors of his court, and 

bring 
Some fitting tribute to the mighty 

kinff. 



Nor this alone ; much had her Highness 

heard 
What flowers of learning graced the 

royal speech ; 
What gems of wisdom dropped with 

every word ; 
What wholesome lessons he was wont 

to teach 
In pleasing proverbs ; and she wished, 

in sooth. 
To know if Rumor spoke the simple 

truth. 



Besides, the queen had heard (which 
piqued her most) 
How through the deepest riddles he 
could spy ; 

How all the curious arts that women 
boast 
Were quite transparent to his pierc- 
ing eye ; 

And so the queen had come — a royal 
guest — 

To put the sage's cunning to the test. 



And straight she held before the mon- 
arch's view. 
In either hand, a radiant wreath of 
flowers ; 

The one, bedecked with every charming 
hue. 
Was newly culled from Nature's 
choicest bowers ; 

The other, no less fair in every 
part. 

Was the rare product of diAdnest Art. 



"Which is the true, and which the 
false? " she said. 
Great Solomon was silent. All- 
amazed, 
Each wondering courtier shook his 
puzzled head. 
While at the garlands long the mon- 
arch gazed, 



THE PIOUS BRAHMIN AND HIS NEIGHBORS. 



1S9 



As one who sees a miracle, and fain, 
For very rapture, ne'er would speak 
again. 

VI. 

" Which is the true ? " once more the 

woman asked, 
Pleased at the i'ond amazement of the 

kiug, 
*■' So wise a head should not be hardly 

tasked. 
Most learne'd liege, with such a trivial 

thing ! " 
But still the sage was silent ; it was 

plain 
A deepening doubt perplexed the royal 

brain. 



While thus he pondered, presently he 

sees, 
Hard by the casement, — so the story 

goes, — 
A little band of busy, bustling bees, 
Hunting for honey in a withered 

rose. 
The monarch smiled, and raised his 

royal head ; 
" Open tlie window ! " — that was all he 

said. 

VIII. 

The window opened at the king's com- 
mand; 
Within the room the eager insects 
flew, 

And sought the flowers in Sheba's dex- 
ter hand ! 
And so the king and all the courtiers 
kuew 

lliat wreath was Nature's ; and the baf- 
fled queen 

Keturned to tell the wonders she had 
seen. 

IX. 

My story teaches (every tafe should 

bear 
A fitting moral) that the wise may 

find, 
In trifles light as atoms in the air, 
Some useful lesson to enrich the 

mind. 
Some truth designed to profit or to 

])lease, — 
As Israel's king learned wisdom from 

the bees ! 



THE PIOUS BRAHMIN AND HIS 
NEIGHBORS. 

A HINDOO FABLE. 

A PIOUS Brahmin made a vow 

Upon a certain day 
To sacrifice a fatted sheep ; 

And so, his vow to pay, 
One morning to the market-place 

The Brahmin took his way. 

It chanced three cunning neighbors, 
Three rogues of brazen brow. 

Had formed the wicked purpose 
(My tale will tell you how) 

To cheat the pious Brahmin, 
And profit by his vow. 

The leader of these cunning knaves 

Went forth upon the road, 
And bearing on his shoulders 

What seemed a heavy load. 
He met the pious Brahmin 

Not far from his abode. 

" What have you there ? " the Brahmin 

said. 

"Indeed," tlie man replies, 
"I have the finest, fattest slicep, 

And of tlie largest size ; 
A sheep well worthy to be slain 

In solemn sacrifice ! " 

And then the rogue laid down his load. 

And from a bag drew forth 
A scurvy dog. " See there ! " he cried, 

" The finest sheep on earth ! 
And you shall have him, if you will, 

For less than he is worth." 

"Wretch ! " cried the pious Brahmin, 

" To call a beast so mean 
A goodly sheep ! 'T is but a dog 

Accurse'd and unclean ; 
The foulest, leanest, lamest cur 

That ever yet was seen ! " 

Just then the second rogue came up. 

" What luck ! " he said, " to find 
So soon a sheep in flesh and fleece 

Exactly to my mind ! " 
" A sheep ? " exclaimed the Brahmin, 

" Then I am surely blind ! " 

" You must be very blind indeed. 
Or fond of telling lies. 



140 



THE ROMANCE OF NICK VAN STANN. 



To say the beast is not a sheep ! " 
The cunning rogue replies ; 

" Go get a leech to mend your tongne, 
Or else to mend your eyes ! " 

Now while these men disputed thus, 

The otlier rogue drew uesir, 
And all agreed this honest man 

Should make the matter clenr. 
" O stranger ! " cried the Brahmin, 

" What creature have we hire ? " 

"A goodly sheep ! " the stranger said. 

" Alas ! " the Brahmin cried, 
"A moment since I would have sworn 

This honest fellow lied ; 
But now I know it is a sheep, 

Since thus you all decide ! " 

And so it was the cunning knaves 

Prevailed in their device ; 
The pious Brahmin bought the dog. 

Nor higgled at the price. 
" 'T will make," he said, " unto the 
gods 

A pleasing sacrifice ! " 

But ill betide the fatal hour 

His filthy blood was shed ; 
It brought no bcnison, alas ! 

Upon the Brahmin's head ; 
The gods were angry at the deed, 

And sent a curse instead ! 

The meaning of this pleasant tale 

Is very plainly shown ; 
The man is sure to fall, at last. 

Who does n't stand alone : 
Don't trust to other people's eyes. 

But learn to mind your own ! 



THE EOMANCE OF NICK VAN 

STANN.8 

I CANNOT vouch my tale is true. 
Nor swear, indeed, 't is wholly new ; 
But, true or false, or new or old, 
I think you '11 find it fairly told. 

A Frenchman, who had ne'er before 
Set foot upon a foreign shore, 
Weary of home, resolved to go 
And see what Holland had to show. 
He did n't know a word of Dutch, 
But that could hardly grieve liim much ; 
He thought, as Frenchmen always do, 
That all the world could parley-voo ! 



At length our eager tourist st;iiul9 
Within the famous Netherlands, 
And, strolling gayly here and there 
In search of something rich or rare, 
A lordly mansion greets his eyes. 
" How beautiful ! " the Frenchman cries. 
And, bowing to the man who sate 
In liver}' at the garden-gate ; 
" Pray, Mr. Porter, if you please. 
Whose very charming grounds are these? 
And — pardon me — be pleased to tell 
Who in this splendid house may 

dwell ? " 
To which, in Dutch, the puzzled man 
Kejjlied what seemed like '■'Nick Van 

Stann."* 
" Thanks ! " said the Gaul, " the own- 
er's taste 
Is equally superb and chaste ; 
So fine a house, npon my word, 
Not even Paris can afford. 
With statues, too, in every niche, 
Of course, Monsieur Van titann is rich, 
And lives, I warrant, like a king, — 
Ah ! wealth must be a charming thing ! " 

In Amsterdam the Frenchman meets 
A thousand wonders in the streets; 
But most he marvels to behold 
A lady dressed in silk and gold. 
Gazing with rapture at the dame, 
He begs to know the lady's name. 
And hears — to raise his wonder more — 
The very words he heard before. 
" Merrie ! " he cries, " well, on my life, 
Milord has got a charming wife ; 
'Tis plain to see, this Nick Van Stann 
Must be a very happy man ! " 

Next day, our tourist chanced to 
pop 
His head within a lottery-shop. 
And there he saw, with staring eyes. 
The drawing of the Mammoth Prize. 
" Ten Millions ! 'T is a pretty sum; 
I wish I had as much at liome ! 
I 'd like to know, as I 'm a sinner. 
What lucky fellow is the winner." 
Conceive our traveler's amaze 
To hear again the hackneyed phrase ! 
" What ! No ■? not Nick Van Stann 

again 1 
Faith ! he 's the luckiest of men ! 
You may be sure we don't advance 
So rapidly as that in France. 
A house, the finest in the land ; 
A lovely garden, nicely planned ; 

* Ik kan niet verstaan, — I don't understand 



THE FISHERMAN AND THE FLOUNDER. 



141 



A perfect angel of a wife, 

And gold enough to last a life, — 

There never yet was mortal man 

So blest as Monsieur Nick Van Stann ! 

Next day the Frenchman chanced to 

meet 
A pompons fimeral in the street, 
And asking one who stood near by 
What nobleman had pleased to die ? 
Was stunned to hear the old reply. 
The Fienchman sighed and shook his 

head. 
" Mon Dieii ! poor Nich Van Stann is 

dead ! 
With such a house, and such a wife, 
It must be hard to part with life ; 
And then, to lose that Mammoth Prize — 
He wins, and — pop ! — the winner dies ! 
Ah ! well, his blessings came so fast 
I greatly feared they could n't last ; 
And thus, we see, the sword of Fate 
Cuts down alike the small and great! " 



THE FISHERMAN AND THE 
FLOUNDER. 

A GERMAN PAIRY TALE. 

A FISHERMAN, poor as poor can be. 
Who lived in a hovel beside the sea. 
Was fishing one day, when " Lo ! " he 

cries, 
" I 've caught a flounder of wondrous 

size, 
As fine a flonnder as one could Avish ! " 
" no, vou have u't ! " exclaimed the 

fish ; 
"In spite of my scaly skin," he said, 
" I am not a fish, but a Prince instead ; 
Condemned to suffer this watery woe ; 
So I beg, good man, a^ou will let me go ! " 
The fisherman, frightened at what he 

heard. 
Let the flounder go with never a word 
Except " Good-by ! I 'd rather eschew 
Than cook a flounder who talks like 

you ! " 
His hovel now the fisherman sought, 
And told his wife of the fish he caught. 
And how his luck was all in vain, 
For he let the flounder off again ! 
"And did you ask for nothing? — 

alack ! " 
The woman cried : " Go presently back. 
And tell the Prince of our wretched lot, 



And nsk him to give us a finer cot ! " 
To mind his wife he was something 

loth, 
But he feared the woman when she was 

wroth ; 
And so he went to the ocean-side. 
And thus the fisherman loudly cried : 
" good flounder in the sea, 
Hither quickly come to me ; 
For Pauline, my loving dame, 
Wants queer things I fear to name." 
Whereat the flounder, swimming near. 
Said, " Why, oh why, am I summoned 

here '? " 
And the trembling fisherman answered 

thus : 
" My dame is always making a fuss; 
A cos<'y hovel is hers and mine. 
But she fain would have a cottage 

fine ! " 
"Go home," said the fish, "this very 

minute ; 
The cottaire is her's ; vou '11 find her ia 

it ! " 
He hied him home in haste, and lo ! 
The fisherman found it even so. 
" How happy," he cried, "we now shall 

be ! "' 
But the woman answered, " We shall 

see ! " 
When a month was past, the woman 

sighed 
Fur a larger house. "Now go," she 

cried, 
" And tell the flounder ('t is my com- 
mand) 
I want a mansion large and grand ! " 
To mind the dame he was truly loth. 
But he feared the woman when she was 

wroth ; 
So he went again to the ocean-side. 
And loudly thus the fisherman cried : 
" O good flonnder in the sea. 
Hither quickly come to me ; 
For Pauline, my loving dame, 
Wants queer things I fear to name." 
Whereat the flonnder, swimming near, 
Said, " Why again am I summoned 

here i" 
And the trembling fisherman answered 

thus: 
" My wife is always making a fuss ; 
She deems our cottage much too small; 
She wants a mansion large and tall." 
" Go home," said the fish, " this very- 
minute ; 
The mansion is there ; you '11 find her 

in it ! " 



142 



HOW THE RAVEN BECAME BLACK. 



He hied him home in haste, and lo ! 

The fisherman found it even so. 

And he cried, "How happy we shall 

he!" 
But the woman answered, " We shall 

see ! " 
When a week was past, the woman 

sighed 
For a castle grand. "Now go," she 

cried, 
"And tell the flounder that he must 

give 
Your wife a palace w^herein to live." 
To mind the dame he was greatly- 
loth, 
But he feared the woman when she was 

wroth ; 
So he went again to the ocean-side. 
And softly thus the fisherman cried : 
" good flounder in the sea, 
Hi ther quickly come to me ; 
For Pauline, my loving dame. 
Wants queer tilings I fear to name ! " 
Whereat the flounder, swimming near, 
Said, " Why again am I summoned 

here 1 " 
And the trembling fisherman answered 

thus : 
" My dame is always making a fuss ; 
She deem-^ our mansion poorly planned ; 
She wants a palace great and grand ! " 
"Go home," said the fish, "this very 

minute ; 
The palace is there ; you '11 find her in 

it!" 
He hied him home in haste, and, lo ! 
The fisherman found it even so, 
And he cried, " How happy we shall 

be I " 
But the woman answered, "_ We shall 

see ! " 
When a day was past, with growing 

pride. 
For regal power the woman sighed ; 
And she bade the fisherman tell the fish 
'I'd reign as a king was now her wish. 
To mind the dame he was sadVy loth, 
But he feared the woman when she was 

wroth ; 
So he went again to the ocean-side, 
And softly thus the fisherman cried : 
" good flounder in the sea. 
Hither quickly come to me ; 
For Pauline, my loving dame. 
Wants queer things I fear to name." 
Whereat the flounder, swimming near, 
Said, " Why again am I summoned 

here 1 " 



And the trembling fisherman answered 

thus : 
" My dame is always making a fuss ; 
She has got a palace great and grand, 
And now she asks for royal command 1 " 
" Go home ! " said the fish, " at the 

palace gate 
You'll find her a king in royal state ! " 
He hied him home in haste, and, lo ! 
The fisherman found it even so. 
" Good faith," said he, " 't is a charm- 
ing thing 
To be, like you, a sovereign king 
With a golden crown upon your brow. 
I 'm sure you '11 be contented now ! '' 
"Not I, indeed," the woman said, 
" A tiiple crown would grace my head; 
And I am worthy, I humbly hope. 
Go tell the flounder to make me pope ! " 
" A pope 1 my deai-, it cannot be done ! 
The Church, you know, allows but one." 
" Nay, none of your nonsense, man," 

said she, 
" A pope, a pope I am bound to be ! 
The Prince will find it an easy thing 
To make a pope as to make a king ! " 
To mind the dame he was sorelj' loth, 
But he feared the woman when she was 

wroth ; 
So he went again to the ocean-side, 
And thus the fisherman faintly cried : 
" good flounder in the sea. 
Hither quickly come to me, 
For Pauline, my loving dame. 
Wants queer things I fear to name I " 
Whereat the flounder, swimming near. 
Said, " Why again am I summoned 

here ? " 
" Alack, alack ! " the fisherman said, 
" Whatever has turned the woman's 

head, 
She is ill-content with royal scope. 
And now, good lack ! she would fain he 

pope ! " 
" Go home ! " the flounder gruffly cried, 
" And see the end of foolish pride ; 
You '11 find her in her hovel again. 
And there, till death, shall she remain ! " 



HOW THE RAVEN BECAME 
BLACK. 

There 's a clever classic story, 
Such as poets used to write 

(You may find the tale in Ovid), 
That the Raven once was white. 



DEATH AND CUPID. 



143 



White as yonder swan a-sailing 
At this moment in the moat. 

Till the bird, for misbehavior. 
Lost, one day, his snowy coat. 

" Raven-white " was once the saying. 

Till an accident, alack ! 
Spoiled its meaning, and thereafter 

It was changed to " Raven-black." 

Shall I tell you how it happened 
That the change was brought about 1 

List the story of Coronis, 

And you '11 find the secret out. 

Young Coronis, fairest maiden 
Of Thessalia's girlish train, 

Whom Apollo loved and courted, 
Loved and courted not in vain, 

Flirted with another lover 

(So at least the story goes) 
And was wont to meet him slyly, 

Underneath the blushing rose. 

Whereupon the bird of Phoebus, 
Who their meetings chanced to 
view, 

Went in haste unto his master. 
Went and told him all he knew ; 

Told him how his dear Coronis, 
False and faithk'ss as could be, 

Plainly loved another fellow, — 
If he doubted, come and see ! 

Whereupon Apollo, angry 

Thus to find himself betrayed, 

With his silver bow-and-arrow 
Went and shot the wretched maid ! 

Now when he perceived her dying, 
He was stricken to the henrt. 

And to stop her mortal bleeding. 
Tried his famous healing art. 

But in vain ; the god of Physic 

Had no antidote ; alack ! 
He who took her off so deftly 

Could n't bring the maiden back. 

Angry with himself, Apollo, 
Yet more angry with his bird, 

For a moment stood in silence. 
Impotent to speak a word. 

Then he turned upon the Raven, 
" Wanton babbler ! see thy fate ! 



Messenger of mine no longer, 
Go to Hades with thy prate ! 

" Weary Pluto with thy tattle ! 

Hither, monster, come not back ; 
And, to match thy disposition, 

Henceforth be thy plumage black ! 



When you *re tempted to make 
chief. 

It is wisest to refuse ; 
People are not apt to fancy 

Bearers of unwelcome news. 

SECOND MORAL. 

Something of the pitch you handle 
On your fingers will remain ; 

As the Raven's tale of darkness 
Gave the bird a lasting stain. 



DEATH AND CUPID. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

Ah ! who but oft hath marveled why 

The gods who rule above 
Should e'er permit the young to die, 

The old to fall in love ! 

Ah ! why should hapless human-kind 
Be punished out of season ■? 

Pray listen, and perhaps you '11 find 
My rhyme may give the reason. 

Death, strolling out one summer's day, 
Met Cupid, with his sparrows ; 

And, bantering in a merry way. 
Proposed a change of arrows. 

" Agreed ! " quoth Cupid, " I foresee 
The queerest game of errors ; 

For you the King of Hearts will be, 
And I '11 be King of Terrors." 

And so 't was done. Alas the day 

That multiplied their arts ! 
Each from the other bore away 

A portion of his darts. 

And that explains the reason why, 

Despite the gods above. 
The young are often doomed to die, 

The old to fall in love ! 



144 



WISDOM AND CUNNING. 



LOVE AND LUCRE. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

Love and Lucre met one day, 

In chill November weather, 
And so, to while the time away, 

They held discourse together. 

Love at first was rather shy, 
As thinking there was danger 

In venturing so very nigh 

The haughty-looking stranger. 

But Lucre managed to employ 

Behavior so potential, 
That, in a trice, the bashful boy 

Grew bold and confidential. 

" I hear," quoth Lucre, bowing low, 
" With all your hearts and honey, 

You sometimes suffer — is it so ? — 
For lack of ready money." 

Love owned that he was poor in aught 

Except in golden fancies. 
And ne'er as yet had given a thought 

To mending his finances ; 

" Besides, I 've heard," — so Love went 
on. 

The other's hint improving, — 
" That gold, however sought or won, 

Is not a friend to loving." 

" An arrant lie ! — as you shall see, — 

Full long ago invented 
By knaves who know not you nor me, 

To tickle the demented." 

And Lucre waved his wand, and lo ! 

By magical expansion, 
Love saw his little hovel grow 

Into a stately mansion ; 

And where, before, he used to sup 

Untended in his cottage. 
And grumble o'er the earthen cup 

That held his meagre pottage, — 

Now, smoking viands crown his board, 
And many a flowing chalice ; 

His larder was with plenty stored, 
And beauty filled the palace. 

And Love, though rather lean at first. 
And tinged with melancholy, 



On generous wines and puddings nursed, 
Grew very stout and jolly. 

Yet, mindful of his early friend, 

He never turns detractor, 
But prays that blessings may attend 

His worthy benefactor ; 

And when his friends are gay above 
Their evening whist or euchre. 

And drhik a brimming health to Love, 
He drinks " Success to Lucre ! " 



WISDOM AND CUNNING. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

As Wisdom one evening was taking a 
stroll. 

Quite out of her usual road. 
She came to a hut, at the foot of a knoll, 

Where Selfishness had his abode. 

In this dismal retreat, which, within and 
without, 

Was the shabbiest ever was known. 
In a fashion befitting so scurvy a lout, 

The miser was living alone. 

She knocked at the door with a maidenly 
rap. 
To inquire concerning the way ; 
For in strolling about, by an awkward 
mishap. 
Miss Wisdom had wandered astray. 

The occupant growled, for the insolent 
chiui 

Suspecied some beggarly kin; 
But, getting a peep at the beautiful girl, 

He civilly bade her, " Come in! " 

Alas for the damsel ! was ever before 
A maid in so wretched a plight ? 

For Selfishness cruelly bolted the door, 
And forced her to wed him outright. 

That a couple so mated soon came to be 
foes. 
Of course it is easy to see ; 
For natures so opposite, every one 
knows. 
Could never a moment agree. 

And so it befell that the lady at last, 
By pleading deception and force, 



THE SULTAN AND THE OWLS. 



145 



From the infamous marriage that bound 
her so fast, 
Procured an eternal divorce. 

But ere 't was decreed, it is proper to 
say, 
A serious mischief was done ; 
For it happened one morning, — bad 
luck to the day ! 
The lady gave birth to a son. 

An ill-looking urchin as ever was born 
(As Cunning the fellow is known). 

Whom even his mother regarded with 
scorn, 
And never was willing to own. 

A slight look of Wisdom he bears in his 
face. 

Procures him a deal of respect 
With people too little discerning to trace 

The vices which others detect. 

For, ever his motives are sordid and 
vile. 
And ever his methods are mean ; 
And thus, in despite of his treacherous 
smile. 
The mind of the father is seen. 



THE SULTAN AND THE OWLS. 

AN ARABIAN TALE. 



The Sultan, Mahmoud, in his early 
reign, 
By bootless foreign wars reduced the 
nation, 
Till half his faithful followers were slain, 
And all the land was filled with deso- 
lation. 



The Sultan's Vizier, saddened at the 
heart 
To see at every turn some new disas- 
ter, 
Essayed in vain, by counsel and by art, 
To stay the folly of his royal master. 



The Vizier, deeply versed in legal lore. 
In state affairs the Sultan's chief re- 
liance, 

10 



Had found, besides, some leisure to ex- 
plore 
In learne'd books the mysteries of sci- 
ence. 



With other matters of the graver 
sort, 
He knew to judge men's fancies by 
their features; 
And understood, according to report. 
The hidden language of the feath- 
ered creatures. 



One pleasant evening, on an aged 
tree. 
The while within a wood the twain 
were walking, 
The Sultan and the Vizier chanced to 
see 
A pair of solemn owls engaged in talk- 
ing. 

VI. 

The Sultan asked: "What is it that 
they say ? " 
And fain would know what the debate 
portended ; 
The Vizier answered : " Sire, excuse 
me, pray, 
I fear your Highness would be much 
offended." 



" Nay," said the Sultan, " whatsoe'er it 
be 
These heralds of Minerva may be say- 
ing, 
Eepeat it. Vizier, faithfully to me ; 
There 's no offence, except in not 
obeying." 

VIIT. 

" Well," said the other, " these sagacious 
fowls 
Have met, 't would seem, at the ap- 
pointed hour, 
To fix their children's wedding ; and 
the owls 
Are at this moment talking of the 
dower. 



" The father of the daughter, speaking 
free, 
Says : ' What are your conditions ? 
please to state 'em ! ' 



146 



THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE. 



' Well, twenty ruined villages,' quoth 
he 
(The father of the son) ; 'and that 's 
my ultimatum ! ' 



" ' Done ! ' says the other, ' only under- 
stand 
I 'd say two hundred quite as soon as 
twenty ; 
Thanks to good Mahmoud ! while he 
rules the land 
We shall have ruined villages in 
plenty ! ' " 



'T is said the Sultan, stricken with re- 
morse, 
Restored the land reduced by war and 
pillage, 
And ruled so wisely in his future course 
That not an owl could find a ruined 
village. 



THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE. 



AN APOLOGUE. 



A Pin and Needle in a basket lay, 
Exempt from household labors ; 

And so they fell a-qnarreling one day, 
Like other idle neighbors. 



" Pray, what 's the use," the saucy Pin 
exclaimed, 

" Of such as you, you noddy 1 
Before fine ladies you must be ashamed 

To show your headless body ! " 



" Who cares about your brazen little 
head"? 
I hold it in derision ; 
'T is good for naught," the Needle 
sharply said, 
" Without an eye for vision ! " 



" Tut ! " said the other, piqued at this 
reply, 
" What profit do you find it. 
When any thread, unless you mind your 
eye. 
Can in a moment blind it 1 " 



" If," said the Needle, " what you say 
were true, 

I '11 leave it to the Thimble, 
If I am not as oright again as you, 

And twenty times as nimble." 



" Grant," said the Pin, " you speak the 
simple truth, 
Beyond the slightest cavil. 
You '11 die so much the sooner, — in 
your youth, 
Worn out with toil and travel." 



" Fie ! " said the Needle, "to my Fate I 
trust ; 
I scorn to be a laggard. 
And live and die, like you, consumed 
with rust. 
Misshapen, old, and haggard " ! 



Unhappy boaster ! for it carne to pass 
The Needle scarce had spoken. 

When she was taken by an awkward 
lass. 
And in the eye was broken ! 



Whereat the Pin (which meets the dam- 
sel's view) 

Around the neck is threaded, 
And after many struggles to get through, 

Is suddenly beheaded ! 



" Well, here we are ! " the Needle hum- 
bly said ; 
No more a haughty scorn er 
Of the Poor Pin who shared her lowly 
bed,— 
A dust-heap in the corner. 



"Yes," said the other, thinking of the 
past, 
" I wish in better season 
We might have learned the lesson which 
at last 
Has brought us both to reason ! " 



"Fi-iend," said the Needle, "we are 
much like men, — 
Scornful in sunny weather; 



BEN-AMMI AND THE FAIRIES. 



147 



And only mindful they are brothers 
wlien 
They 're in the dirt together ! " 



BEN-AMMI AND THE FAIRIES. 

A KABBINICAL TALE. 

Once on a time a stranger came 
At midnight to a wealthy man, — 

Rabbi Ben-Ammi was his name, — 
And thus his salutation ran : 

" Rabbi ! I have a child at home 
Who on the morrow's early light 

Is eight days old ; and thou must 
come 
And celebrate the sacred rite." 

Now this Ben-Ammi, be it known, 
Though few indeed were rich as he, 

With growing wealth, alas ! had grown 
A miser to the last degree. 

And yet he held, it should be told. 
His office in such pure regard. 

With all his sordid lust of gold, 
He served the poor without reward. 

So at the word Ben-Ammi rose, 

And when the sacred Law was read, 

Forth in the night the Rabbi goes. 
To follow where the stranger led. 

The night was dark, and, sooth to say, 
The road they trod was rough indeed ; 

Yet on and on they took their ~\Yi\,j, 
Where'er the stranger chose to lead. 

At last they reached, toAvards the dawn, 
A rock so huge, within a wood, 

A hundred steeds could not have drawn 
The mighty stone from where it 
stood. 

Now mark the wonder that occurred : 
The stranger touched it with his 
hand, 
Spoke to himself some mystic word, 
And straight it moved from off the 
land! 

And now the wondering Rabbi found 
The earth was open for a space. 

With steps that led beneath the ground, 
As if 10 some mysterious place. 



Descending these with prudent care. 
And going far and farther down. 

They reached nn open country, where 
They found, at length, a peopled 
town. 

Among the hous«s, large nnd small, 
'J'here stood a palace vast and grand, 

And here, within a spacious hall. 
Were fairy-folks, on every hand. 

Now going where the woman lay 
Whose child the sacred rite required, 

The stranger bade Ben-Ammi stay, 
And, bowing, silently retired. 

"Rabbi, pray listen!" said the dame; 

" These people here whom thou hast 
seen 
Thou knowest not except by name, — 

The fairy race of Mazakeen, 

" They are not human like ourselves 
(For 1, indeed, was once of earth), 

But queer, uncouth, uncaimy elves, 
Who find in mischief all their mirth. 

" And yet they have religions too ; 

All kinds of creeds, like folks above; 
And he who rules them is a Jew, — 

My husband whom I dearly love. 

"And hence it was he made so bold 
To bring thee hither in the night, 

That for our babe, now eight days 
old, 
Thou mayst perform the holy rite. 

"He stole me from the earth away.; 

Of tliis I do not now complain : 
But listen well to what I say, 

If thou wouldst e'er return again. 

"Beware ! taste neither food nor drink 
Whilst thon art here, on any plea. 

Or in a moment thon wilt sink 

Tliy manly form to — what you see ! " 

The king returning with his suite, 
The holy rite was duly done. 

And all sat down to drink and eat 
In merry glee, — save only one. 

Ben-Ammi (fearing the abuse 

The dame had borne) did not partake 
Of bread or wine, but made excuse 

Of three days' fast for conscience' 
sake. 



148 



THE DISCONTENTED WATER-CARRIER. 



Whereat the king was moved to say, 
" How then shall I reward thy taskl " 

" Let me return to earth this day," 
J3ea-Ammi said ; " 't is all I ask." 

" Nay ! " answered he ; and led him forth 
'Mid heaps of gems and golden ore. 

" I would return this day to earth," 
Ben-Ammi said ; " I ask. no more ! " 

Entering another room, he sees 
"(And marvels much, we may sup- 
pose) 

Along the walls, a thousand keys 
In bunches, hung in rusty rows. 

"While gazing at each brazen line, 
Ben-Ammi cries, with startled tone : 

"This bunch so much resembles mine 
That I should take them for my 
own ! " 

"Thou sayest well," the king replied; 

"They are thine own; 'tis here I 
hold 
The keys of men who basely hide, 

Aud do not use, their gathered gold. 

" Here, take the keys ! Henceforth thy 
heart 

AVill melt in pity for the poor ; 
And all thou givest will impart 

A double blessing on thy store. 

" Now, wouldst thou go, first shut thine 
eyes," 
Then waves his hand towards the 
dome ; 
Up and away Ben-Ammi flies. 

And quickly finds himself at home ! 

And from that day Ben-Ammi knew 
The use of wealth, and understood 

(While more and more his riches grew) 
The blesse'd art of doing good ! 



THE DISCONTENTED WATER- 
CARRIEIl. 

A TURKISH TALE. 



" There goes the Vizier and his gaudy 
train ! 
While I, poor Hassan, indigent and 
old, 



Must carry water ; well, I can't explain 
Why one wears rags, another cloth of 
srold. 



" The single diamond that bedecks his 
sword 
Would set me up a gentleman for 
life; 
And now, God bless me ! I cannot aiFord 
A pair of scarlet trousers for my 
wife ! 



" With half the money that his servants 
waste 
Each day in knick-knacks, it is very 
clear 
My family might live like kings, and 
t-aste 
Koast kid for dinner fifty times a year. 



" It inmj be just ; I don't affirm 't is 
not ; 
Allah is Allah ! and knows what is 
best; 
But if, for mine, I had the Vizier's lot, 
'T would please me vastly better, I 
protest ! " 



So murmured Hassan, vext within him- 
self 
To see the Vizier riding proudly by ; 
When suddenly a little fairy elf 
Appeared before him with a twink- 
ling eye. 



" Peace ! " said the Fairy ; " ere thy 
speech begun 
I knew to what thy present thoughts 
incline ; 
Choose any gift thou wilt (but only 
one), 
Aud, by my kingdom, it shall soon be 
thine ! " 



Poor Hassan, filled with jo}', at once 
began : 
" I fain would have " — but paused 
before the word 
Escaped his mouth ; or, sooth to say, 
the man 
Had named the jewel on the Vizier's 
sword ! 



THE DISCONTENTED WATER-CARRIER. 



149 



VIII. 

What next he thought to choose was all 
the Kold 
That filled the Calif's coffers; then 
he thought 
Of Bagdad's riches ; then the wealth 
untold 
Of all the earth, — so fast his fangjc 
wrought ! ""' 



Such various wishes thronged his teem- 
ing brain, 
He pondered long, until the Fairy's 
voice 
Showed some impatience, and the man 
was fain 
From very fear to hasten in his 
choice. 



But halting still when at the point to 
tell 
His final wish, the Fairv kindly 
told 
(To aid his choosing) of a hidden 
well 
Filled to the brim with jewels and with 
gold. 

XI. 

And then she led him to a secret grot. 
Where, underneath a stone, the treas- 
ure lies. 
Removed the slab that sealed the sacred 
spot. 
And showed the riches to his wonder- 
ing eyes. 



" Take what you will of this exhaustless 
store ; 
But, mark you, if you pause to dine 
or snp. 
Your work is finished; you can have no 
moi-e ; 
The stone will move and close the 
coffer up." 



Charmed with the sight that met his 
dazzled gaze. 
He stood enrapt ; then turned to 
thank the fay 
For so much bonnt}^ ; but, to his amaze, 
The nimble sprite unseen had fled 
away. 



Whate'er three ample water-skins conld 

hold y 

Was soon his own; but this contents 

him not ; 
Unnumbered coins of silv,er "-and' of 

gold _^ -.-"'"' 

..Invite- his spude, and chain him to the 

spot. 



"Another hour of digging will suf- 
fice," 
Quoth Hassan, delving with increas- 
ing greed. 
" Well, by tlie I'rophet, here is some- 
thing nice ! 
Rubies and diamonds ! this is wealth 
indeed ! " 



And so he dug (remembering the 
hint 
The Fairy gave him) till his busy 
spade 
Had piled a mound so vast, the Calif's 
mint 
Could scarce have matched the glit- 
tering heap he made. 



And yet he toils, as greedy as before. 
"A little more!" said Hassan, " ere 
the sun 
Sinks in the west, — some fifty shovels 
more. 
And this day's work, a brave one ! 
will be done ! " 

XVIII. 

Poor Hassan ! heedless of the fading 
day. 
He wrought at night as he had 
wrought at noon ; 
Weary and faint, but impotent to 
stay 
His eager hand beneath the rising 
moon. 

XIX. 

" A little more ! " the miser said, "and I 
Will make an end." He raised his 
weary hand 
To delve again; then dropt it with a 
sigh, — 
So weak and worn that he could 
hardly stand. 



150 



MURILLO AND HIS SLAVE. 



Fatiil Ambition ! from his golden bed 
He tries iu vaia to i-eacli the yicldy 
hei<;ht ; 
The sliiuing heaj) comes tumbling ou 
his head. 
And shuts poor Hassan in eternal 
night ! 



THE MILLER AND HIS AD- 
VISERS. 

AN APOLOGUE. 

Of all the fables quaint and old 
By zEsop or by Pkcedrus told, 
For wit or wisdom none surpass 
That of the Miller and his Ass ; 
Which shrewd Malherbe of modern 

France 
Invented, — meaning to advance 
This wholesome truth, for old and 

young 
(Here rendered in our English tongue), 
1'hat one — however cheap the price — 
May take too much of " good advice." 

A mill 'r, who had thrived so well 
That he had got an ass to sell, 
Sec forth, one morning, for the fair, 
Attended by his youthful heir, 
While, trudging on with solemn mien, 
Ihe precious donkey walked between. 

At length they meet upon the way 
Some fellows, less polite than gay. 
Who laugh, as if they 'd split their 

sides, 
Thiit neither son nor father rides. 

The hint suffices; iu a crack 
The boy bestrides the donke3^'s back, 
When, presently, three merchants came 
Along the road, who all exclaim : 
" Get off, you lout ! you selfish clod, 
To let your aged father plod 
On foot, while you the ass bestride ; 
Dismount, and let your father ride ! " 

The Miller does as they desire, 
Down comes the son, up gets the sire, 
And so they go until they meet 
A group of damsels in the street, 
Who, all in chorus, scream and shout : 
" For shame ! that one so big and stout 
Should ride at ease without a care 
About his young and tender heir." 
" Gad! " says the Miller, " their advice 
Seems mainly wise ; " and iu a trice 



(Though Jack esteems it hardly kind) 
lie bids the lad get up behind. 

Alas ! the world is hard to suit ; 
The Miller now is called a brute 
By all lie meets upon the road 
VVho mark the donkey's double load. 
In sooth, the Miller and his heir 
Were quite as much as he could bear, 
And so, at length, the careful twain 
Took up the weary ass amain, 
And to the mirth of all beholders, 
Bore off the beast upon their shoul- 
ders. 
Alas! for all the weight they bore, 
They still were censured as before; 
The captious rabble followed after 
With sneers, and jests, and shouts of 

laughter. 
" The biggest ass," one fellow said, 
" Is clearly not the quadruped ! " 
Another mockingly advised 
To have a pet so highly prized 
Kept in the parlor from the cold, 
Or, for a breastpin, set in gold. 

Stunned with the clamor of their 
mirth. 
He drops tlie donkey to the earth, 
" Zooks ! they arc right," he sighs. 

" Alas I 
'T is clear enough I am an ass. 
As stupid as this shaggy brute. 
Essaying thus all minds to suit. 
Egad ! despite feach meddling elf, 
I '11 try henceforth to please myself." 



MURILLO AND HIS SLAVE. 

A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 

" Whose work is this "? " Murillo said, 
The while he bent his eager gaze 

Upon a sketch (a Virgin's head) 
That filled the painter with amaze. 

Of all his pupils, — not a few, — 

Marveling, 't would seem, no less 
than he ; 
Each answered that he nothing knew 
As touching whose the sketch might 
be. 

This much appeared, and nothing 
more : 

The piece was painted in the night. 
" And yet, by Jove ! " Murillo swore, 

" He has no cause to fear the liiiht. 



HASSAN AND THE ANGEL. 



151 



'"Tis something crude, and lacks, I 
own, 

That finer finish time will teach ; 
But genius here is plainly shown, 

And art beyond the common reach. 

" Sebastian ! " ( turning to his slave,) 
" Who keeps this room when I 'm in 
bed ? " 
" 'T is I, Senor." " Now, mark you, 
knave ! 
Keep better watch," the master said ; 

" Eor if this painter comes again. 
And you, while dozing, let him slip, 

Excuses will be all in vain, — 

Eemember, you shall feel the whip ! " 

Now while Sebastian slept, he dreamed 
That to his dazzled vision came 

The Blessed Lady — so she seemed — 
And crowned him with the wreath of 
Pame. 

Whereat the startled slave awoke. 
And at his picture wrought away 

So rapt that ere the spell was broke, 
The dark was fading into day. 

" My beautiful ! " the artist cried ; 

" Thank God, I have not lived in 
vain ! " 
Hark ! 'T is Murillo at his side ; 

The man has grown a slave again. 

" Who is your master ? — answer me ! " 
" 'T is you," replied the faltering 
lad. 
" Nay, 't is not that, I mean," said 
he; 
" Tell me, what teacher have you 
had ? " 

" Yourself, Senor. When you have 
taught 

These gentlemen, I too have heard 
The dail}' lesson, and have souglit 

To treasure every golden word." 

" What say you, boys ? " Murillo cried. 
Smiling in sign of fond regard, 

" Is this a case — pray you decide — 
Eor punishment, or for reward 1 " 

" Reward, Senor ! " they all exclaimed. 
And each proposed some costly toy ; 

But still, whatever gift was named, 
Sebastian showed no gleam of joy. 



Whereat one said : " He 's kind to-day ; 

Ask him your Preedom." With a 
groan 
The boy fell on his knees : " Nay, nay ! 

My father's freedom, — not my own ! " 

" Take both ! " the painter cried. 
" Henceforth 
A slave no more, — be thou my 
son. 
Thy Art had failed, with all its worth, 
Of what thy Heart this day has won ! " 

l'envoi. 

The traveler, loitering in Seville, 
And gazing at each pictured saint, 

May see Murillo's genius still. 

And learn how well his son could 
paint. 



HASSAN AND THE ANGEL. 

The Calif Hassan, — so the tale is 
told, — 

In honors opulent and rich in gold, 

One New Year's Day sat in a palm-tree's 
shade. 

And, on a stone that lay beside him, 
m:ide 

An inventory, — naming one by one 

His benefactions ; all that he had done 

Throughout the year; and thus the 
items ran : 

" Eive bags of gold for mosques in Ispa- 
han ; 

For caravans to Mecca, seven more ; 

Eor amulets to pious people, four; 

Three for the Ramazau ; and two to 

pay 

The holy dervishes, who thrice a day 
In prayer besought the safety of my 

soul ; 
Item, one loaf of bread, a weekly dole 
To a poor widow with a sickly child." 
The Calif read the reckoning o'er, and 

smiled 
With conscious pleasure at the vast 

amount. 
When, lo ! a hand sweeps over the ac- 
count. 

With sudden anger, Hassan looked 

around. 
And saw an angel standing on the 

ground, 



152 



THE GOLD-FINGERED BRAHMIN. 



With wings of gold, and robe of purest 

white. 
" I am God's messenger, employed to 

write 
Within this book the pious deeds of 

men; 



I have revised thy reckoning; look 

again." 
So to the man the angel spake aloud. 
Then slowly vanished in a rosy cloud. 
The Ciilif, looking, saw upon the stone 
The final item standing there alone. 



FABLES A]ND FAIEY TALES. 



THE TWO ANGELS. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

Two wandering angels, Sleep and 
Death, 

Once met in sunny weather : 
And while the twain were taking breath, 

They held discourse together. 

Quoth Sleep (whose face, though twice 
as fair. 
Was strangely like the other's, — 
So like, in sooth, that anywhere 
They might have passed for broth- 
ers) : 

" A busy life is mine, I trow ; 

Would I were omnipresent ! 
So fast and far have I to go ; 

And yet my work is pleasant. 

" I cast my potent poppies forth, 
And lo ! — the cares that cumber 

The toiling, suffering sons of Earth 
Are drowned in sweetest slumber. 

" The student rests his weary brain. 
And waits the fresher morrow ; 

I ease the patient of his pain. 
The mourner of his sorrow. 

" I bar the gates where cares abide. 
And open Pleasure's portals 

To visioned joys; thus, far and wide, 
I earn the praise of mortals." 

" Alas ! " replied the other, " mine 

Is not a task so grateful ; 
Howe'er to mercy I incline. 

To mortals I am hateful. 



" They call me ' Kill-joy,' every one, 
And speak in sharp detraction 

Of all I do ; yet have I done 
Full many a kindly action." 

" True ! " answered Sleep, " but all the 
while 

Thine office is berated, 
'T is only by the weak and vile 

That thou art feared and hated. 

"And though thy work on earth has 
given 

To all a shade of sadness ; 
Consider — every saint in heaven 

Kemembers thee with gladness ! " 



THE 



GOLD-FINGERED 

MIN. 

A HINDOO TALE. 



BRAH- 



A FAMOUS merchant, who had made 
A fine estate by honest trade 
With foreign couuti'ies, — by mischance 
(The failure of a firm in France 
And several cargoes lost at sea), 
Became as poor as poor could be ; 
Of all his riches saving naught, 
Except, indeed, the pleasing thought 
Of generous deeds in better days. 
Which some remembered to his praise. 
Of these, a Brahmin, who had known 
The merchant ere his wealth had flown. 
And how he helped the sick and poor. 
Entered, one day, his open door, 
And said, " My friend ! I know you 

well ; 
Your former state ; and what befell 



THE FARMER AND THE MAGIC RING. 



153 



That all was lost ; and well I know 
Your noble life, and fain would show 
(Since I have power — Heaven be 

adored !) 
How all your wealth may be restored. 
Now please attend : whene'er you see 
A Brahmin who resembles me 
In looks and dress (and such an one 
Will enter here at set of sun), 
Just strike him on the forehead — 

thrice ; 
And lo ! his fingers, in a trice, 
Will turn to solid gold ! Of these 
Cut off as many as you please 
(The ten will make a goodly sum), 
And thus the Brahuiiu-form will come 
Whenever you have need of gold. 
Consider well what I have told 1 " 

With this the Brahmin went away, 
And, sure enough, at close of day, 
A stranger, like the other, came, — 
So like, indeed, he seemed ihe same, — 
And sat him down; and, quick as 

thought, 
The blows are struck, the charm is 

wrought. 
And all his fingers turn to gold ! 

wondrous sight ! — And now behold 
The happy merchant rich once more 
As in his thrifty days of yore ! 

A barber, curious to know 
Wiience all this sudden wealth might 

flow. 
By watching morning, noon, and night. 
The magic Brahmin brought to light ; 
At last, he thought beyond a doubt 
He W found the golden secret out ; 
And straight he called three Brahmins 

in, 
And bade them sit: "Eor so I'll 

win," 
The fellow reasoned, " thrice as much 
As if a single man I touch : 
The more the men, the more the gold ! 

1 '11 have as much as I can hold 
In all my pockets, at a blow ! " 

But when he struck the Brahmins, lo ! 
Tliey turned not info golden ores. 
But turned — the barber out of doors ! 
And, angry at his scurvy trick, 
Each beat him soundly with a stick ! 



To all who read this pleasant tale, 
The barber's fate may serve to teach, 



How sadly imitators fail 

Who aim at things beyond their 
reach ! 



THE FARMER AND THE MAGIC 
RING. 

A FAIRY TALE. 

In grateful reward of some generous 
thing 
That an honest young farmer had 
done 
To a wandering Fairy, she gave him a 
ring 
That was set with a magical stone. 

" Pray take it, and wear it as long as 
you live," 
Said the Fay, as the present she gave ; 
" 'T is a Avonderf ul ring, and is potent 
to give 
Whatever its wearer may crave. 

" One wish, and no more, it is certain to 
bring ; 
Whatever you have in your thought. 
You have only to wish, — vi'ith a turn 
of the ring, — 
And presto ! the marvel is wrought ! " 

Now, what should he wish ? — it was not 
very clear , 
And so he consulted his spouse ; 
Who quickly replied, " Good gracious ! 
my dear ! 
Just wish for a couple of cows ! " 

" Nay, — nay ! that were foolish ! " the 
farmer replies ; 
" The cows I can earn in a year. 
By the work of my hands ; pray, let us 
be wise, 
And wish to some purpose, my dear ! " 

" Well, — wish for more land ! " said the 
voluble dame ; 
" There 's a meadow adjoining our 
farm 
You long have been wanting ; that sure- 
ly were game 
Well worthy your magical charm ! " 

" Nay, — nay ! " said the farmer j " that, 
too, I can buy 
In a couple of years, at the most ; 



154 



THE GRUMBLING PEASANTS. 



Something better than that we must find 
ere we try 
AVhat virtue this bauble may boast. 

" One wish, recollect, is allowed, — and 
no more ; 
In waiting there 's surely no harm ; 
And then, how the fault we should ever 
deplore 
If we foolishly squander the charm ! " 

And so — it is told — to the day when 
he died 
By talent and labor alone 
The farmer grew wealthy, nor ever had 
tried 
A wish with the magical stone ! 

MORAL. 

" O fool of a farmer ! " how many will 
say, 
" Who, having so potent a ring, 
Just stupidly threw the advantage 
away ! — 
Was ever so silly a thing ? " — 
But, from wishing amiss, what mortal 
can tell 
What evil might chance to befall ? 
Or linow th:\t in wishing his choice were 
as well 
As not to have chosen at all 1 



THE GEUMBLING PEASANTS. 

A ROMAN TALE. 

One summer's day — the tale is told — 
An honest Peasant, poor and old, 
Worked in the meadow with his wife. 
When thus she spoke : " Well, on my 

life! 
'T is precious hard that you and I 
Must sweat beneath the burning sky. 
Like galley slaves, for paltry pay. 
And all because — alas the day ! — 
Of Adam's fall ! But for his sin 
And Eve's, how happy we had been ! " 
" True ! " said the Peasant ; " I believe, 
Had I been Adam, 3'ou been Eve, 
No foolish fancies would have come 
To drive us from our Eden-home ; 
But all the race, this very day, 
Had in the Garden been at plaj' ! " 
The Count, their master, standing 

near 



(Tliough quite unnoticed), chanced to 

hear 
Their wise discourse ; and, laughing, 

said : 
" Well, m}' good friends, suppose instead 
Of Paradise, my mansion there 
Were yours to-day ; with princely fare 
For food to eat and wine to diiuk. 
Would that content ye, do ye think"?" 

" Ah ! that were Paradise indeed ! 
What more," they cried, " could mor- 
tals need ? " 
" Well, we shall see," the Count replied ; 
" But that your virtue may be tried, 
Remember, on the table, served 
With many a dish, there 's one reserved; 
Partake of every one you see 
Save that, which (like the Fatal Tree) 
Just in the centre I will place. 
Beware of that ! lest Adam's case 
Should be your own, and straight you 

go 
Back to your sickle, rake, and hoe ! " 
Soon to the castle they were led, 
And by a table richly spread. 
As for a bacchanal carouse. 
Behold the Peasant and his spouse ! 
" See ! " said the woman, " what a treat ! 
Far more, I 'm sure, than we can eat ; 
With such excess we well may spare 
The dish that 's in the centre there ! " 
" Who cares for that ? " the Peasant 

said ; 
(While eagerly the couple fed 
From all the plates that round them 

lay.) 
" My dear ! I would n't look that way ! " 
" No harm in looking ! " said the wife ; 
" I would n't touch it for my life." 
But in their minds, at length, there grew 
A strong desire for something new ; 
Whereat the woman said, " I wish 
I knew what 's hidden in that dish ? " 
"And, to be sure," ihe nuiu replied, 
" Merely to look was not denied ! " 
" And even touching it," said she, 
" Were" no great harm, it seems to me; 
Of course, I will not lift the lid ; 
And who would know it if I did ? " 
She suits the action to the word, 
When from the dish a little bii'd 
(The Count had slyly hiddeu there) 
Came rushing forth into the air, 
And through the open window flew; 
And so it was the master knew 
What they had done. " Away ! " he 

said ; 
" Back to the field and earn your bread 



THE ROSE AND THE FAIRY. 



155 



As you were ■wont, — and ne'er com- 
plain 
Of Adam and of Eve again ! " 



THE LITTLE GLASS SHOE. 

A NORTHLAND FAIRY TALE. 

" Ho ! ho ! ha ! ha ! — what is it I 
view? " 

John Wilde, the plowman, cried. 
As he hit his foot on a little glass shoe 

That lay on the mountain-side ; 
" Some fay has lost it, there 's never a 
doubt. 

And ah ! how lucky for me ! 
The owner will soon be roaming about 

To find where his shoe may be. 
And so," said John, " I '11 carry it home, 

That 's just what I will do, 
And he will pay me a pretty sum 

Who buys this little glass shoe ! " 
And he spread the story far and near, 

For many a mile around, 
Th;it the fairy folk might surely hear 

Who the little glass shoe had found. 
And soon to John a merchant came. 

Who said he had heard the news ; 
And would the plowman sell the same 

To a dealer in little glass shoes? 
And he offered John a pretty price 

For the shoe that he had found ; 
But John replied it was much too nice 

To go for a hundred pound. 
Then tbe merchant offered a hundred 
more, 

But the plowman still said, " Nay ; 
The man who buj^s my shoe," he swore, 

" Will dearly have to pa}'. 
There 's not so pretty a shoe on earth 

To cover a lady's toes ; 
And then I happen to know its worth 

Far better than yon suppose. 
The shoe is one of wondrous price 

(That nobody can deny), 
And yet, perchance, there 's some de- 
vice 

May serve the shoe to buy. 
If you are able to show me, now, 

When I am plowins my field. 
That every furrow behind my plow 

A shining ducat may yield, — 
Why, then to you the shoe I '11 give, 

Else I will keep it myself, — 
For an ornament, as long as I live, 

To grace my mantel-shelf ! " 



And so it was the fairy bought 

('T was he in a merchant's guise !) 
His own glass shoe, and, quick as 
thought, 

Away to his home he hies. 
And off went John, with much delight, 

As fast as he could go, 
By trial to prove that very night 

If the charm would work or no. 
And he found the fairy's word was true, 

As he promised in the trade ; 
For a shining ducat came to view 

In every furrow he made ! 
And again next morning off he went — 

Nor scarce to eat could stop — 
To plow again, — he was so intent 

To. gather his golden crop. 
And so he plowed, and plowed, and 
plowed. 

And scarce for slumber ceased; 
No wonder John was growing proud, 

So fast his wealth increased ! 
And still he plowed by day and night, 

When none were looking on, 
Till he seemed, indeed, a sorry wight, 

He grew so lean and wan ! — 
And still, when none his work might 
view. 

He plowed by night and day ; 
And still the more his riches grew, 

The more he pined away. 
Until, at last, his work was stopped, 

And the plowman, where was he ? — 
Down in the furrow, alas ! he dropped. 

As dead as dead could be ! 



Though good is gold, to have and hold, 

My story makes it clear 
Who sells himself for sordid pelf 

Has bought it much too dear ! 



THE ROSE AND THE FAIRY. 

AN ORIENTAL TALE. 

A TiNv Fairy, of the sort 

Who love in flowery fields to sport, 

One dewy eve espied a Rose 

So fair and fragrant, straight he goes 

And nestles in her bosom ; dips 

Deep in her leaves his elfin li]>s. 

And sucks the virgin honey thence; 

Regaling thus his daint}' sense 

Of taste and odor rare, until 



156 



LOVE AND CARE. 



The Sybarite has drimk his fill ! 

" Sweet blossom ! " siyhed the grateful 

Fay, 
" Thy bounty I would fain repay. 
The fairest flowers that deck the field 
Or garden, all to thee must yield 
In loveliness ; but that the Queen 
Among her subjects may be seen 
E'en in the dark and envious night 
(That hides thy beauty from the sight), 
This little Lantern shall be thine 
To show, at nij;ht, thy form divine ! " 
With modest thanks the Rose receives 
The Glow-worm's light upon her leaves. 
Then turns to list a thrilling lay 
That witched her maiden heart away ! 
For Philomela filled the grove, 
Just then, with such a song of love 
For " Rosa, fairest of the fair," 
The maid was won, ere half aware 
The singer, while he bent to bless 
The trembler with a soft caress. 
Had snatched her lamp, — the rogue ! 

and gone 
And left her in the dark — alone ! 



The Glow-worm lantern (we are told 
By wise expositors) is gold ; 
"Which serves to set in fairest light 
The charms that else were lost to 

sight. 
Moreover, it is plain to see 
The cunning Nightingale is he, 
The smooth-tongued knave, whose 

wicked art 
For lucre cheats the loving heart. 
That, like poor Rose, is doomed to prove 
How Craft may feign the voice of Love ! 



THE TWO SPARROWS. 

PROM THE FRENCH. 

Two sparrows, votaries of Love, 
The Mars and Venus of the grove, 
Had been, for years, such constant 

mates. 
You would have sworn the very Fates 
Were impotent to break the bond 
That joined a pair so true and fond. 
Together still they sought their food ; 
Together played in field or wood ; 
Together built the coscynest 
That served for shelter and for rest ; 
Together fought the feathered foes 



With whom they came to words or 

blows ; 
In fine, they lived, as lovers ought. 
Without a single selfish thought, 
SaA'e such as might concern the twain, 
Their mutual joy or mutual pain. 

At last, one day, they chanced to get 
Their feet entangled in a net, 
(A vagrant boy had spread the snare 
To catch and keep the pretty pair !) 
And soon, despite their noisy rage, 
They both were prisoned in a cage ; 
Where — much I grieve the tale to 

tell — 
A sorry scandal now befell : 
They scold, recriminate, and fight. 
Like arrant foes, from morn till night ; 
Until, at length, the wretched birds 
In cruel acts and bitter words 
The very furies emulate, — 
And all their love is turned to hate ! 



Full many a couple come to strife 
And hatred in connubial life, 
Whose days of courtship promised fair 
As those of this unhappy pair ; 
But, like the sparrows in my tale. 
When trouble comes, their tempers fail ; 
They blame each other for the fate 
Which both should strive to mitigate; 
With patience helping to endure 
The ills that kindness fails to cure ! 



LOVE AND CARE. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

A TODTH was traveling on a summer's 
day, 
When suddenly a stranger 
Appeared before him, saying, " Sir your 
way 
Is rough and full of danger ; 

" And I — you 've heard of me ; my 
name is Care — 
Intend, for your protection. 
To dog your steps, and watch you, 
everywhere, 
With keen but kind inspection ! " 

A surly wight he seemed ; and so the 
lad, 
Who wished not his assistance, 



DEATH INSURANCE. 



157 



Stept off with quickened pace ; while, 
slow and sad, 
Care followed at a distance, 

And soon the youth espies along the 
way, 

Trippinfj in wanton measure, 
A dashing damsel, very iine and gay ; 

Her name (she said, was Pleasure. 

" Come ! follow me ! " the merry maiden 
cried. 
With peals of silver laughter ; 
"I will, — I will!" the joyful youth 
replied. 
And gayly followed after. 

Alas ! she led him such a crazy dance, 
He presently grew tired, — 

And stopt, at length, — unwilling to 
advance 
Through paths so much bemired. 

To Pleasure's ways no longer now in- 
clined. 
He offered small resistance 
When Care came up (for he was close 
behind) 
And tendered his assistance. 

But soon escaping from his hated guide, 
He spied a pensive maiden 

Of wondrous beauty, — by a fountain's 
side, — 
With sprigs of myrtle laden. 

" O Love ! " he cried, (for truly it was 
she!) 

"I beg your kind endeavor 
From this detested Care to set me free, — 

And keep me so forever ! " 

" Nay ! " said the maid ; " and yet my 
votaries swear. 

My charms are so beguiling. 
That in my cheering presence even Care 

Has got a trick of smiling ! " 



DEATH INSURANCE. 



A FABLE. 



A MOUNTEBANK whose life displayed 
Uncommon genius in the trade 
Of getting much while giving naught 
(Except a deal of knavish thought), 



Gave out through all the country round 
That he the magic art had found 
Of teaching Eloquence to all 
Who chose to pay, (the fee was small !) 
Indeed, the rogue declared, his plan 
Would educate the dullest man. 
Nay, e'en a horse or ox or ass, 
Till he in speaking would surpass 
Immortal Tully ! and would show 
All modern arts that lawyers know, 
Besides, to grace a brilliant speech 
" All this I undertake to teach 
The merest dunce, — or else," he said, 
" The forfeiture shall be my head ! " 

Of course so marvelous a thing 
Soon, through the courtiers, reached 

the king ; 
Who, having called the charlatan 
Into his presence, thus began : 
" Well, Sir Professor, I have heard 
Your boasts, and take you at your 

word. 
Between us be it now agreed 
That to my stable you proceed 
At once, and thence a donkey take. 
Of whom — 't is bargained — you shall 

make 
An orator of fluent speech ; 
Or, failing thus the brute to teach. 
You shall be hanged till yon are dead ! " 
" A bargain, Sire ! " the fellow said ; 
"And ten years' time shall be allowed ; 
It is but fair." The monarch bowed. 
" And now my fee be pleased to pay ! " 
Then takes the gold and goes away. 

A courtier whom he chanced to meet, 
A fortnight later, in the street. 
Began the fellow to deride 
About his bargain, — " Eaith ! " he 

cried, 
" A fine agreement you have made ! 
I mean to see the forfeit paid ; 
The art of rhetoric to teach. 
Of course j^ou '11 make a gallows 

speech ! " 
"Laugh as you may, my merry 

man ! " 
Replied the cunning charlatan ; 
" Although my wisdom you may flout, 
I know quite well what I 'm about. 
If in the years allotted I, 
The king, or ass, should chance to die, 
Pray, don't you see, my giddy friend. 
The bargain finds a speedy end ? 
My fee was but ?i premium paid 
To one in the insurance trade. 
Of one or other of the three 
Ten years are pretty sure to see 



158 



THE KING'S ASTROLOGER. 



The epitaph, — as chances fall ; 
I take the hazard, — that is all ! " 



THE CADI'S STRATAGEM. 

A TURKISH TALE. 

A PIOUS widow's cottage chanced to 
stand 
Hard by the Califs palace ; and he 
sought. 
For his own use, to buy her bit of 
land : 
But all in vain, — the land could not 
be bought. 

" It was my husband's home," the wom- 
an said, 
" Who, dying, left it to his loving 
wife ; 
Here will I dwell, in honor of the 
dead, 
Nor with it part until I part with 
life ! " 

The haughty Calif's anger knew no 
bound, 
That thus the dame withstood him to 
his face ; 
By force he razed her cottage to the 
ground. 
And built a grand pavilion iu its 
place. 

Straight to the Cadi, then, the widow 
goes, 
And asks for justice at his Honor's 
hand : 
" Leave me awhile," the Cadi said, and 
rose ; 
" Allah is great, and hears your just 
demand." 

Then with an empty sack, he took his 
way 
To the pavilion, where he chanced to 
meet 
The Calif at the door. " Great Sire ! 
I pray 
A little of the earth beneatli your 
feet ; 

"Enough to fill," the Cadi said, "this 
sack." 
" 'T is granted ! " said the Calif, laugh- 
ing loud. 



" Now, please to put the load upon my 
back. 
Most potent Prince ! " — and rever- 
ently bowed. 

" Nay," said the Calif, " I should sure- 
ly fail 
Should I essay to lift a load so great ; 
For such a task my strength would not 
avail ; 
A porter would be crushed beneath the 
weight ! " 

" Prince of Believers ! " said the Cadi, 
then, 
" If this be even so, how wilt thou 
fare 
In the great day of final judgment, 
when 
The weight of all this land thou ha.st 
to bear 1 " 

The Calif stricken with remorse, ex- 
claimed, 
" Allah is Allah ! — be his name 
adored ! 
For wit and wisdom thou art justly 
famed ; 
This day shall see the widow's land 
restored. 

" And for the wrong I did the woman's 
land, 
In tearing down her house, I thus 
atone : 
This fine pavilion in its place shall 
stand ; 
For, with the soil, the building is her 
own ! " 



THE KING'S ASTROLOGER. 

A HISTORICAL INCIDENT. 

Few hearts, however brave they may 

ajipear, 
Are wholly free from superstitious fear ; 
Thirteen at table, or the salt upset, 
A broken looking-glass, — have served 

to fret 
With anxious boding many a mind too 

proud 
Its secret terrors to confess aloud. 
A veteran soldier has been known to 

quail 
At the white phantom in a nursery-tale ; 



NO ADMITTANCE. 



159 



Or list the " death-watch," by the even- 
ing fire, 

With fears that roaring guns could not 
inspire, 

Though Science sought his quaking 
nerves to rule. 

And calm-eyed lieason called the trem- 
bler " fool ! " 

And many a monarch, boastful of his 
power. 

And proud to make his slavish minions 
cower 

Beneath his royal fro^^^l, has been him- 
self 

The humblest slave of some imagined 
elf 

Begot of Superstition's baleful night; 

Some wicked gnome or diabolic sprite. 

Malicious fairy or vindictive " wraith," 

Who, seeking to avenge man's broken 
faith 

Or haughty scorn, sets all his plans 
awry. 

Or blasts his harvests Avith an " evil 
eye!" 
When Louis the Eleventh ruled in 
France, 

His favorite Astrologer, by chance. 

Or by predicting some unwelcome thing 

Concerning state-affairs, displeased the 
king 

So much, the angry monarch (Rumor 
saifh) 

Resolved to put the hated seer to death ; 

So, summoning the man, with this in- 
tent, 

He tnockingly demanded what it meant 

That he who knew tlie mysteries of Fate, 

And how of others' death to fix the 
date, 

Should be so ignorant about his own 1 

The Seer, divining from his sneering 
tone 

The monarch's purpose, answered, " I 
foresee. 

Your Majesty, when that event will 
be; 

My death will happen (so my Star as- 
sures) 

Three days — precisely — in advance of 
yours I " 
What was the monarch's answer? 
The report 

Tells only this, that in the royal court 

The Seer thenceforth was safely lodged, 
and there 

To his life's end received the kindest 
care! 



KO ADMITTANCE. 

AN ORIENTAL TALE. 

A WEALTHY Syrian — Abdallah by 
name — 

Fell ill and died; and when his spirit 
came 

Before the gate of heaven, the angel 
there 

(Who stands with awful and majestic air 

To guard the Elysian portal) softly said, 

" Whence comest thou ? " The Syrian 
bowed liis head, 

And answered, "From Aleppo." "Very 
well, — 

What wert thou 1 " asked the heavenly 
sentinel. 

" A merchant." " True ; but tell me all 
the rest," 

Replied the angel, " all, — the worst and 
best; 

From me — reflect — no act can be con- 
cealed ! " 

Whereat the merchant all his life re- 
vealed. 

And nothing hid of aught that he had 
done : 

Plow he had sailed beneath the Indian 
sun. 

In quest of diamonds, and for yellow 
gold 

To Northern Asia; how he bought and 
sold 

By the Red Sea, and on the wondrous 
Nile, 

And stormy Persian Gulf ; and all the 
while 

Had bravely striven to keep his con- 
science clear, 

Though always buying cheap and selling 
dear. 

As merchants use, — "And so I throve 
amain," 

He said, " for many a year, — nor all in 
vain 

For public benefaction, since I gave 

Freely for charity, — content to save 

Enough for me and mine, — a hand- 
some store, — 

And that is all." " Nay, there is some- 
thing more," 

The angel said. " Of thy domestic life 

Thou hast not spoken, — hadst thou not 
a wife 1 " 

" Yes," said the Syrian, with a sigh that 
spoke 



160 



THE STRAY CAMEL. 



Of many a groan beneath the marriage 

yoke. 
Whereat the angel said, " By God's rich 

grace, 
Come iu, poor suffering soul ! and take 

thy place 
Among the martyrs, and give Heaven 

thanks ! " 
Now, as he entered the celestial ranks. 
Another soul approached the golden 

door, 
Who, having heard all he who came be- 
fore 
Had spoken, and observed him entering 

in 
The open portal, thought himself to 

win 
Easy admittance ; for when he had 

told 
His history, like the other, he made 

bold 
To add, " All this, Good Angel, is most 

true ; 
And, as for wives, I 've had no less than 

two ! " 
" Twice married ! " said the angel, with 

a face 
Of wrath and scorn, — "unfortunates 

have place 
In heaven's blest mansions ; but, by 

Keason's rules, 
(So get thee hence!) there is no room 

for fools ! " 



THE STEAY CAMEL. 

AUr ARABIAN TALE. 

A CAMEL-DRIVER, who had lost 

His camel, chancing to accost 

A wandering Arab in the way, 

Said, " Sir ! my beast has gone astray ; 

And went, I think, the road you came." 

" Pray," said the stranger, " was he 

lame 1 " 
" He was, indeed ! " was the reply. 
" And, tell me, had he lost an eye ? " 
" 'T is even so ! " " And one front 

tooth 1 " 
" In faith ! — you speak the simple 

truth ! " 
" And, for his load, was there a sack 
Of honey on the camel's back ? " 
" There was, indeed ! — now tell me, 

pray 
(Of course he can't be far away), 



Just when and where the brute you 

passed ; 
And was he going slow or fast ? " 
" Faith ! " said the stranger, " on my 

word, 
I know no more than I have heard 
From your own lips ! Nor in ray way 
Have I observed, for many a day, 
A camel like the one you claim ; 
I swear it, in the Prophet's name ! " 

The camel-driver all in vain 
Besought the Arab to explain ; 
He still insisted, as before, 
That of the beast he knew no more 
Than from the owner he had heard. 
Whereat the camel-driver, stirred 
With wrath, expressed his firm belief 
This knowing Arab was a thief; 
Then to the Cadi off he went, 
And told the tale. His Honor sent, 
And brought the stranger into court. 
" You hear this worthy man's report," 
The Cadi said, " of what occurred ; 
And still you answer not a word. 
Save that his beast you never saw. 
Allah is great ! and law is law 1 
How know you, then, that he was 

lame 1 " 
" By this, — that where the camel 

came, 
Upon the sand 'one footprint lagged. 
Which showed one foot the camel 

• dragged." 
" 'T is well explained ; now tell me why 
You said the camel lacked an eye ? 
And from his jaw one tooth had 

lost ? " 
" By this, — that nowhere had he crossed 
The road to browse the other side ; 
And, furthermore, I plainly spied 
Where'er his teeth had chanced to 

pass, 
A narrow line of standing grass. 
Which showed, as clear as truth is truth. 
The camel had one missing tooth ! " 
" And how about the honey ? " 

" Well, — 
It surely was n't hard to tell 
The nature of the camel's load, 
When, gathered all along the road, 
A thousand bees " — " There, that 

will do," 
The Cadi said ; " the case is through 
And you're discharged! But let me 

hint 
(A lesson plain as any print), 
A deal of trouble may arise 
At times from being overwise ! " 



THE AMBITIOUS VINE. 



161 



THE FIVE KNAVES. 

AN ORIENTAL TALE. 

Once on a time, in Indostan, 
A thief conceived a cunning plan 
(So potent is the voice of Hope) 
To save his throttle from the rope, 
Though now the day was drawing nigh 
When he by law was doomed to die. 
He bade the jailer tell the King 
He fain would show a wondrous 

thing, — 
A precious secret fairly worth 
The ear of any prince on earth. 

. And now the culprit, being led 
Into the royal presence, said, 
" This golden coin which here you see, 
If planted, will become a tree 
Whose fruit, increased a hundred-fold, 
Will be — like this — the purest gold. 
I pray your Majesty to try 
If this be true before* I die." 
With this, the King and courtiers went 
Into the garden with intent 
To plant the curious coin of gold ; 
But now, when all was ready, " Hold ! " 
Exclaimed the thief, — " this hand of 

mine 
Would surely spoil our whole design. 
The hand that plants the gold must be 
(Else all is nought) entirely free 
From stain of fraud ; and so I pray 
Your Gracious Majesty will lay 
The seed in earth." " Yes, — no, — in 

sooth " — 
The King replied, " for in my youth 
I pilfered from my sire ; some stain. 
For all my sorrow, may remain. 
My good Prime Minister is here ; 
His hand, no doubt, is wholly clear 
Of any taint." " Nay," he replied, 
" That 's more than I can well decide ; 
As Tax-Receiver — now — I may 
Have kept a trifle. So I pray 
To be excused, for prudence' sake, 
And let our Commissai'y take 
The coin in hand. Sure that were best ; 
For he, no doubt, can stand the test." 
" Faith ! " said the Commissary, " I 
Would rather not. I can't deny 
My good intent ; but since I pay 
Large sums of money every day 
For soldiers, sailors, and a herd 
Of spies, — I would n't give my word 
I have not kept a small amount. 
Not entered in mv book accouut. 
'U 



Since any error — e'en the least — ■ 
Would spoil the charm, pray let the 

Priest 
Proceed to plant the coin of gold." 
" Nay, that I fear were over-bold ; 
Despite my prayers and pious zeal," 
Replied his Reverence, " I deal 
In tithes and sacrificial dues ; 
And so I beg you will excuse 
My sharing in a Avork like this 
Where nothing must be done amiss." 

"Faith!" said the thief, "since no 
man here 
(As we have learned ) is wholly clear 
Of knavish tricks, I ask you whether 
We should not all be hung together"? " 

The monarch, laughing, made reply, 
"Why, yes, if every rogue must die ! 
Well, since we five are knaves confest, 
I pardon you, — and spare the rest ! " 



THE AMBITIOUS VINE. 

AN APOLOGUE OP THE ALGIC INDIANS. 

A VINE that stood beside a thriving Oak 

Grew weary of the labor 
Of self-support, and thus she plainly 
spoke 

Unto her stronger neighbor : — 

" I prithee bend your handsome trunk 
to me, 

My noble forest-brother ; 
That, mutually embracing, we may be 

Supporters of each other." 

" Nay," said the tree, " I was not made 
to bend ; 
I 'm strong and self-reliant. 
As oaks are wont, — but you, my pretty 
friend, 
Are twenty times as pliant ! 

" So clasp your slender arms around me, 
dear ; 

And we will grow together. 
High as yon azure cloud, nor ever fejir 

The roughest wind or weather ! " 

"Nay, nay," replied the foolish Vine, 
" I hate 
To seem so much your debtor : 
You do the twining, now, and /'ll be 
straight ; 
I 'd like it vastly better ! " 



162 



A DOUBLE DISTRESS. 



"Nature wills otherwise," the Oak re- 
plied, 
" However you may grumble ; 
The moment such a silly plan were 
tried, 
Together we should tumble ! 

" Come 3^ou to me ; and, taking Nature's 
course. 

We '11 keep our proper places : 
I to the twain will give my manly force, 

And you your maiden graces. 

" But if, pervei'se, you try to live alone, 
With none to hold and cherish 

Your slender form, before you 're fairly 
grown, 
You certainly will perish. 

" Or if, instead of fondly clinging fast 
To one who would protect j^ou, 

You flirt with others, — all the trees at 
last 
Will scornfully reject you." 

" I see, — I see ! " exclaimed the musing 
Vine, 
" The weaker must be nourished ; " 
Then clasped the oak with many a 
graceful twine, 
And so they grew and flourished ! 



THYESIS AND AMARANTH. 

Thtrsis, enamored of a maid, — 

Fair Amaranth, — a trick essayed 

To test the way her fancy ran ; 

And thus the simple swain began: 

" Amy ! if you only knew, 

And, like myself, could feel it too, 

A certain malady that harms 

Young fellows, while it sweetly charms, 

I 'm sure you 'd wish your gentle breast 

Were of the same disease possest. 

Its name you may have chanced to 

hear ; 
Pray let me breathe it in your ear, — 
'T is Love ! my darling ! — that 's the 

word ! " 
" 'T is one," quoth she, " that I have 

heard. 
And think it pretty; pray reveal 
Exactly how it makes you fee! ; 
And tell me plainly all the signs 
By which its presence one divines." 
" Ah ! " said the boy, " its very woes 



Are ecstasies ! — the patient goes 
With laggard step and longing looks. 
And murmurs love to babbling brooks, 
And all the while, in every pbice, 
Sees naught but one bewitching face ! 
There is a shepherd-lad — suppose — 
Whom some sweet village maiden 

knows. 
She fears to see him ; yet would she. 
If she might choose, no other see ; 
If she but hears his voice or name. 
Her cheeks are flushed with scarlet 

flame ; 
At thought of him she heaves a sigh, 
Yet cannot guess the reason why " — 
" Nay, — stop ! " cries Amaranth, " I 

ween 
I know the malady you mean ! 
Although I did n't know its name, 
I warrant, now, 'tis just the same 
As that (I hope it is n't wrong !) 
I 've felt for Cledamant so long ! " 



Poor Thyrsis ! He was not the first, 
Nor yet the latest, who has shown 

A rival's interest may be nursed 
By one who seeks to serve his own ! 



A DOUBLE DISTRESS. 

A PERSIAN TALE. 

That blessings lost, though hard to 

bear. 
Are light when weighed with carking 

care, — 
Some ill whose ever-goading spite 
Affects us morning, noon, and night, — 
Sadi, the Persian poet, shows 
Most humorously. The story goes — 
So sings the bard — that, on a time, 
Somewhei'e within the Eastern clime, 
A worthy gentleman, whose wife 
Took sudden leave of him and life. 
In deepest lamentation fell 
For the dear dame whom long and well 
The man had loved, — as well might 

be, — 
For she was good, and fair to see. 
And crowned with every winning grace 
Of mind and soul to match her face. 
What much his weight of woe in- 
creased. 
The mother of the dear deceased, 



THE TWO KINGS. 



163 



A meddling beldame, old and cross, 
liemained to help him mourn his loss. 
From morn to night the vixen's toni^ne 
He heard, and groaned ; and still she 

clung 
Leech-like unto the widowed spouse ; 
For, by the daughter's nuptial vows, 
The woman said, it was agreed — 
Dared he dispute it"? — no, indeed ! — 
Her mother in the house should stay, 
A guest — unto her dying day ! 
In vain the hapless man essayed 
To buy her off ; in vain portrayed 
The pleasures of a trip to Rome ; 
She still " preferred to stay at home ! " 

One day, amidst the deafening din 
Of angry tongues, some friends came 

in. 
With sympathetic voice to pay 
Condolence, in the common way ; 
And, hinting at his recent loss. 
Hoped Heaven would help him bear his 

cross. 
" Thanks ! " said the mourner, with a 

sigh, 
" My loss is great, — I can't deny ; 
But for affliction, I must say. 
What God was pleased to take away 
A less calamity I find 
Than what He chose to leave behind ! " 



THE TWO KINGS. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

When mighty Jove had fashioned hu- 
man kind, 
And named the earth to be their 
dwelling-place 
(So in an Eastern apologue we find), 
He sent two ministers to rule the 
race. 

He gave command to Pleasure and to 
Pain 
(Of heavenly, one, and one of hellish 
birth) : 
" Henceforth, my minions, be it yours 
to reign 
As sovereign lords o'er all the sons of 
earth." 

And soon it was agreed between the 
twain 
A separate dominion would be best; 



The vicious only should be ruled by 
Paiji ; 
And Pleasure be the master of the 
rest. 

A proper plan enough it seemed, at 
first ; 
But soon they found, despite each out- 
ward sign. 
That — save, indeed, between the best 
and worst — 
None less than Jove could fairly draw 
the line. 

They found — to make discrimination 
nice — 
To classify the race defied their skill : 
The virtuous all had more or less of 
vice ; 
The vicious showed some sparks of 
virtue still. 

The generous man was "fashed wi' 
worldly lust " ; 
The devotee was full of saintly pride ; 
The chaste was covetous ; and none so 
just 
But they had still some little sin to 
hide. 

And, looking sharply at the darker part. 
Not one among them all was wholly 
bad ; 
Here was a sot who had a generous 
heart. 
And there a thief who saved a drown- 
ing lad. 

Virtue and Vice ! — how easily they 
trace 
The larger forms of each ; but to as- 
sign 
Their just proportion in a special case, — 
Who but the gods could safely draw 
the line 1 

And so it was agreed (lest strife befall 
From such confusion) each, in turn, 
should reign : 
Pleasure should have dominion over 
all; 
And all, at times, should feel the rule 
of Pain. 

And still, as erst, they rule the human 
race, — 
Pleasure and Pain, — in short, alter- 
nate sway ; 



164 



, NOUS ET VOUS. 



And whichsoe'er may show his regal 
face, 
We know his fellow is not far away ! 



JUPITER AND HIS CHILDEEN. 

A CLASSIC FABLE. 

Once on sublime Olympus, when 
Great Jove, the sire of gods and men. 
Was looking down on this our Earth, 
And marking the increasing dearth 
Of pious deeds and noble lives. 
While vice abounds and meanness 

thrives, — 
He straight determined to efface 
At one fell swoop the thankless race 
Of human kind. " Go ! " said the King 
Unto his messenger, " and bring 
The vengeful Furies ; be it theirs, 
Unmindful of their tears and prayers, 
These wretches — hateful from their 

birth — 
To wipe from off the face of earth ! " 
The message heard, with torch of flame 
And reeking sword, Alecto came. 
And by the beard of Pluto swore 
The human race should be no more ! 

But Jove, relenting thus to see 
The direst of the murderous three, 
And hear her menace, bade her go 
Back to the murky realms below. 
" Be mine the cruel task ! " he said, 
And, at the word, a bolt he sped, 
Which, falling in a desert place, 
Left all unhurt the human race ! 
Grown bold and bolder, wicked men 
Wax worse and worse, until again 
The stench to high Olympus came, 
And all the gods began to blame 
The monarch's weak indulgence, — they 
Would crush the knaves without delay ! 

At this, the Kuler of the air 
Proceeds a tempest to prepare, 
Which, dark and dire, he swiftly hurled 
In raging fury on the world ! 
But not where human beings dwell 
(So Jove provides) the tempest fell. 

And still the sin and wickedness 
Of men grew more, instead of less ; 
Whereat the gods declare, at length, 
Por thunderbolts of greater strength. 
Which Vulcan soon, at Jove's command. 
Wrought in his forge with dexterous 

hand. 
Now from the smithy's glowing flame 



Two different sorts of weapons came : 
To hit the mark was one designed ; 
As sure to miss, the other kind. 
The second sort the Thunderer threw. 
Which not a human being slew; 
But, roaring loudly, hurtled wide 
On forest-top and mountain-side ! 



What means this ancient tale 1 That 

Jove 
In wrath still felt a parent's love; 
Whatever crimes he may have done, 
The father yearns to spare the son. 



NOUS ET VOUS. 



A GALLIC FABLE. 



As two young friends were walking out, 
one day 
(So Florian has told). 
They chanced to see, before them, in 
the way 
A well-filled purse of gold. 
" By Jove ! a pretty prize for us ' " 
cried Ned ; 
While Tom with hasty hand 
Was pocketing the purse. " For us ? " 
he said ; 
" I do not understand 
Your meaning, sir ; for me, sir ! that '§ 
the word ! " 
(Joy beaming in his face.) 
" Considering how the incident occurred, 

' Us' IS n't in the case ! " 
" Well — be it so ! " the other made 
reply, 
"Although t is hardly fair; 
I am not anxious, sir, — indeed, not I, 

Your treasure-trove to share ! " 
Just then, two robbers plainly they 
espied 
In waiting to accost 
Our travelers, — when Tom, a-tremble, 
cried, 
" Ah ! brother, we are lost ! " 
" We 1 " answered Ned. " Oh, we have 
naught to fear : 
'T is you the rogues must face ; 
You, — you, my boy ! To me 't is very 
clear 
' We ' is n't in the case ! " 
And at the word away the fellow ran. 
When, rushing from the Avood, 



THE RIVAL QUEENS. 



165 



The thieves attacked the unresisting 
man, 
Who, pale with terror, stood 
The while they robbed him of his pre- 
cious purse. 
Too weak for flight or strife, — 
No friend to aid him — and (oh sad re- 
verse !) 
In peril of his life ! 



So wags the world ! ^ where oft the 
selfish " nous " 
Seems fated to forget 
The time may come when e'en the 
humblest " vous " 
May pay a friendly debt. 
The prosperous man who but himself 
regards 
May chance to change his tone, 
When Fortune leaves him to his losing 
cards, 
Unpitied and alone ! 



THE FAIRY AND THE THREE 

WISHES. 

AN ORIENTAL TALE. 

A FAIRY of the friendly sort 
Who serve mankind as if in sport, 
■ Know how to wash and sweep a room 
With twirling mop and whisking 

broom. 
In garden work are skillful too, 
And apt in all that huswives do ; 
But if you cross them, lo ! they cease 
Their industry with strange caprice. 
Or, more perversely, quickly spoil 
The product of their former toil, — 
A fairy of this curious kind 
(Which still in mei-ry books we find) 
Had aided long a farmer's skill 
His land to plow and plant and till, 
Until the honest yeoman grew 
Not rich, indeed, but well-to-do, 
Thanks to the faiiy, — nimble sprite ! 
Who served his master day and night 
(For still the fay his vigils kept 
While master, man, and mistress slept). 
Until at last the vagrant mood 
That ever rules the goblin-brood 
Was his no more : he fain would dwell 
With those whom he has served so 
well; 



For to the giver kindness makes 
A joy surpassing his who takes. 

But now, alas ! (and hence we see 
That fays have griefs as well as we,) 
An order from the Fairy-King 
Came, with an escort, charged to bring 
The farmer's favorite, that he 
Might straight attend his Majesty 
At Land's-End ! — he would have it 

so, 
And so, perforce, the fay must go. 
But ere he left his rustic life, 
He bac.3 the farmer and his wife 
Three several wishes to express. 
" Just three," he said, " no moi'e, — nor 

less. 
And these will I at once fulfill, 
Whate'er, my friends, may be your 

will ! " 
The first was sure an easy task ; 
For wealth — vast wealth, of course, 

they ask. 
It comes ! and with it all the train 
Of ills that vex the heart and brain 
Of those Avho pay the taxes which 
(Beside the king's !) annoy the rich, — 
Thieves, swindlers, beggars, borrowers, 

all 
That plunder parlor, kitchen, hall. 
By various arts, — force, fraud, and 

lies ! 
" Take all away ! " the farmer cries ; 
" The poor are happier than they 
Who to such harpies fall a prey ; 
0, give us back, dear sprite, once more 
Contentment and our humble store." 
Two wishes gone, — to bring the man 
And dame just where they first began ! 
At thought of this they laughed out- 
right ; 
So did the fairy (sprightly sprite!) 
But ere he went, with friendly voice. 
He helped them to a better choice : 
'T was Wisdom ! riches of the mind. 
Surpassing all that misers find 
In money-bags ; abundance rare 
And void of grief and carking care ; 
Wealth — if it bear the genuine seal — 
Which none can borrow, beg, or steal ! 



THE RIVAL QUEENS. 

AN APOLOGUE. 

A DAMASK Rose and a Lil)/ white. 
Each lovely as ever was known, 



166 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 



Grew doubly red and pale with spite 
Concerning the floral throne. 

For some declared the Lily -was queen ; 

While others, as firm as those, 
Said, " No ! just look at her languid 
mien; 

Our sovereign shall be the Rose ! " 

"A queen," said the friends of the 

ruddy Rose, 

" The royal purple should wear ; " 

"A queen," 'twas answered, "every 

one knows. 

Should — like the Lili/ — be fair ! " 

The quarrel was bitter and long and 
loud, 
And all for battle were fain ; 
No wonder, I ween, the Rose grew 
proud ; 
No wonder the Lily grew vain ! 

And so, for many a hateful day 

And many an angry week 
They tossed their heads in a scornful 
way, 

And both refused to speak. 

Until, one day, with the golden morn, 
The slumbering Rose awoke, 

And, all ashamed of her recent scorn. 
To her rival kindly spoke. 

" O lovely Lily ! " exclaimed the Rose ; 

" What boots it, lady, that we 
Should stand and , stare like foolish 
foes, 
Who were wont good friends to 
be?" 

" Ah ! why, indeed 1 " the Lily replied. 
As toward the other she bends 

With a graceful nod, '"T is pity that 
pride 
Should sever the best of friends ! 

"And I 've been thinking," the Lily 
went on, 

" That not by arrogant claims 
A true nobility best is shown. 

But in noble acts and aims." 

" And I 've been thinking," the Rose re- 
turned, 

" For all our pride of race. 
In every flower may be discerned 

Some sweet, peculiar grace. 



" Though Rose be red, and Lily be fair. 
With all the charms we 've got. 

The humblest flower in field or bower 
Hath some that we have not ! " 



PROVIDENCE IMPARTIAL. 



An old Hellenic saw declares 
The gods, who govern men's affairs 
Impartial (grumble as we may). 
For all their favors make us pay 
According to their special worth : 
Wealth, honor, beauty, noble birth, 
Has each its price ; and still the higher 
The gift, the more the gods require ! 
Hence, let not foolish pride inflate 
The seeming favorites of Fate. 
A Fir-tree, very large and tall, ^ 
That grew beside a Bramble small. 
Was boasting of his strength and size : 
" What houses I would make ! " he 

cries ; 
" While you are simply good for 

naught. 
Unworthy of the Woodman's thought ! " 
" True ! " said the Bramble ; " but re- 
flect ! — 
If he were here, would you elect 
(Think of his axe, and tell me, sir) 
To be a Bramble or a Fir 1 " 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN 
WISHES. 

" Give me your soldiers' bracelets ; all 
Their splendid jewels, great and small, 
And straight your army shall be led 
Within the city walls." So said 
Tarpeia, while the Sabine waits 
In siege before the Roman gates. 

Whereat each soldier, filing past 
The traitress, on her body cast 
His heiivy bracelet ; till at last 
The shining heap became so great. 
She fell and died beneath their weight. 

Even so it fares with mortals, who 
With headlong eagerness pursue 
Ambition, pleasure, wealth, or fame ; 
The glittering prize at which they aim 
Comes often, like Tarpeia's fate. 
To bruise and crush them with its 
weight. 



REASON VERSUS CUSTOM. 



1G7 



JUST ONE DEEECT. 

A PERSIAN FABLE. 

Who buys a house, however fine 

In architectural design, 

And howsoever vast and grand 

The prospect whicli it may command, 

May vei'y prudently explore 

Concerning one condition more : 

So Sadi sings, and tells of one. 

Somewhere beneath the Persian sun, 

Who thought to buy a mansion whpre 

A foul-mouthed broker praised the 

air 
And all things else, with eager voice : 
" You could not make a better choice," 
The fellow bawled. "Now, look ye 

here ! 
1 've lived next door this twenty year, 
And know the house is fairly worth 
Ten times the price ! There 's not on 

earth 
A finer building ! Just inspect 
The place, and mention one defect ! " 
"Why, truly," said the man, " I see 
But one." " Indeed ! what may it 

be?" 
" The house I should not reckon 

dear, 
I think, — if yours were not so near ! " 



LOATE AND POETRY. 



To Psyche, when her maiden heart 
Was fancy-free, the Muses went 

To teach her the poetic art ; 

But all in vain their kind intent ; 

She answered, she did not desire 

To meddle with poetic fire ! 



But Cupid came, and won the maid 
(Psyche — " the soul " of all things 
good) ; 
Her husband's teaching she obeyed, 
And caught from him the lyric 
mood ; 
And ever since — as all agree t^ 
Love is the soul of Poesy ! 



REASON VERSUS CUSTOM. 

AN APOLOGUE. 

Once on a time, a man of sterling sense 

At Eashion's whims and shams took 
such offense. 

He vowed, at last, that not another 
day 

Would he submit to her despotic sway ; 

Thenceforth, he said, do others as they 
might, — 

He meant, for one, to follow Reason's 
light ! 

" A brave resolve ! " his laughing neigh- 
bors cried. 

" Well, well," he answered, " you shall 
see it tried 

In practice ; thus — when Fashion dis- 
agrees 

With Reason (as in life one daily sees) 

I mean, henceforth, in all things, great 
and small, 

As you shall note, to follow Reason's 
call." 

And so it came to pass ; from that day 
forth. 

He judged all things by their intrinsic 
worth 

Or seeming fitness ; furnished his abode. 

And wore his clothes, regardless of the 
mode; 

All things discarding as a foolish waste 

Which seemed discordant with the laws 
of taste. 

Or clearly served no profitable end ; 

Whate'er, in brief, his reason might 
commend 

Of old or new he took into his plan 

Of living, — like a reasonable man ; 

In Fashion's mere despite rejecting 
naught. 

Nor at her mere behest accepting aught 

Which Reason interdicted. Who can 
say 

He was not wise, or name a wiser way ? 

A scheme like this should surely pros- 
per well ; 

But if you ask me truthfully to tell 

The sequel, — I must candidly confess 

'T was what the reader may have 
chanced to guess. 

With every step our bold reformer took. 

By just so much — consider — he for- 
sook 

The common path. " The oddest man 
in town ! '' 



168 



THE TWO FRIENDS. 



His neighbors said, at first — then set 

him down 
For " half -demented ! " By and by, 

they vowed 
Such wild, strange actions should not 

be allowed ; 
The man was clearly " going to the bad." 
At last, his dear relations proved him 

mad, 
In open court, and shut him in a cell ; 
Where long he lived with lunatics, to tell 
His doleful tale ; and earnestly advise 
Against the foolishness of being wise 
Where folly is the mode ! — "I tried to 

steer 
My course by Reason, and she brought 

me here ! " 



THE SULTAN AND THE EX- 
VIZIER. 

A COLLOQUY : PROM THE PERSIAN. 



Since you turned Dervish, long ago, 
By true report your life I know. 
And high advance in wisdom's lore ; 
And much, believe me, I deplore 
The day I lost — by envious Fate — 
My good Prime Minister of State. 



Thanks ! gracious Sire ! the life I live 
Has more of peace than power can give ; 
Here, in my cloister, I have learned 
Contempt of rank ; and all I earned 
Of power and pelf in your employ 
Would poorly stead my present joy. 



No doubt! — and as for power and pelf, 

I 'd like a quiet life myself ; 

And yet your wisdom I would fain 

Employ to serve my realm again ; 

The truly wise are truly great. 

And such, alone, should rule the state. 

BERVISH. 

'T is true, your Majesty ; and yet, 
I would not pay the hateful debt : 
You call me wise ; well — be it so; 
But being wise, I must forego 



An office which (am I too hold 1) 

A wise man would not choose to hold ! 



THE TWO FRIENDS. 

A RABBINICAL TALE. 

Good Rabbi Nathan had rejoiced to 

spend 
A social se'nnight with his ancient 

friend. 
The Rabbi Isaac. In devout accord 
They read the Sacred Books, and praised 

the Lord 
For all his mercies unto them and theirs ; 
Until, one day, remembering some affairs 
That asked his instant presence, Nathan 

said, 
" Too long, my friend (so close my soul 

is wed 
To thy soul), has the silent lapse of 

days 
Kept me thy guest ; although with 

prayer and praise 
The hours were fragrant. Now the time 

has come 
When, all-reluctant, I must hasten home 
To other duties than the dear delights 
To which thy gracious friendship still 

invites." 
" Well, be it so, if so it needs must be," 
The host made answer ; " be it far from 

me 
To hinder thee in aught that Duty Ia3'S 
Upon thy pious conscience. Go thy 

ways; 
And take my blessing! — but, friend 

of mine. 
In His name whom thou servest, give 

me thine ! " 
"Already," Nathan answered, "had I 

sought 
Some fitting words to bless thee ; and I 

thought 
About the palm-tree, giving fruit and 

shade ; 
And in my grateful heart, friend, I 

praj^ed 
That Heaven be pleased to make thee 

even so ! 
Oh, idle benediction ! — Well I know 
Thou lackest nothing of all perfect fruit 
Of generous souls ; or pious deeds that 

suit 
With pious worship. Well I know thine 

alms 



PERSEVERE AND PROSPER. 



169 



In hospitable shade exceed the palm's ; 
And, for rich fruitage, can that noble 

tree, 
With all her opulence, compare with 

^ thee 1 
Since, then, O friend, I cannot wish thee 

more, 
In thine own person, than thy present 

store 
Of Heaven's best bounty, I will even 

pray 
That — as the palm-tree, though it pass 

away, 
By others, of its seed, is still replaced — 
So thine own stock may evermore be 

graced 
With happy sons and daughters, who 

shall be, 
In wisdom, strength, and goodness, like 

to thee ! " 



PEESEVEEE AND PEOSPER. 

AN ARABIAN TALE. 

" To the manly will there 's ever a 
way ! " 
Said a simple Arab youth ; 
" And I 'm going to trj^, this very 
day. 
If my teacher tells the truth : 
He 's always saying, — the good old 
man, — 
' Now, please remember, my dear, 
You are sure to win, whatever you 
plan, 
If you steadily persevere ! ' 

" I mean to try it, — upon my life ! 

If I go through fire and water ; 
And, since I wish to marry a wife, 

I '11 have the Calif's daughter ! " 
So off to the Vizier straight he goes, 

Who only laughed at the lad ; 
And said him " Nay," — as you may 
suppose, — 

For he thought the fellow was mad ! 

And still for many and many a day 

He came to plead his case, 
But the Vizier only answered "Nay," 

And laughed him in the face. 
At last, the Calif came across 

The youth in the Vizier's hall. 
And, asking what his errand was, 

The Vizier told him all. 



" Now, by my head ! " the Calif said, 

" 'T is only the wise and great 
A Calif's daughter may ask to wed. 

For rank with rank must mate ; 
Unless, mayhap, some valiant deed 

May serve for an equal claim 
(For merit, I own, should have its 
meed. 

And princes yield to Fame). 

" In the Tigris once a gem was lost, 

'T was ages and ages since, 
A Ruby of wondrous size and cost. 

And fit for the noblest prince ; 
That gem, my lad, must surel}^ be 

Somewhere beneath the water, — 
Go find it, boy, and bring it to me ; 

Then come and marry my daugh- 
ter ! " 

" And so I will ! " the lad replied. 

And off to the river he ran ; 
And he dips away at the foamy tide. 

As fast as ever he can : 
With a little cup he dips away ; 

Now, what 's the fellow about ? 
He 's going to find the gem, some 
day. 

By draining the Tigris out ! 

And still he dips by day and night. 

Till the fishes begin to cry, 
" This fellow is such a willful wight. 

He '11 dip the river dry ! " 
And so they sent their monarch to 
say 

(A wise and reverend fish), 
" Now why are you dipping our water 
away 1 

And what do you please to wish 1 " 

"I want the Ruby, sir," he cried. 

" Well, please to let us alone. 
And stop your dipping," the fish-king 
cried, 

" And the gem shall be your own ! " 
And he fetched the Ruby, of wondrous 
size. 

From out the foamy water ; 
And so the lad obtained his prize, 

And married the Calif's daughter ! 

l'envoi. 

This pleasant story was meant to teach 
That pluck is more than skill ; 

And few are the ends beyond the reach 
Of a strong, untiring will ! 



170 



THE IMPARTIAL JUDGE. 



LAKE SARATOGA. 

AN INDIAN LEGEND. 

A LADY stands beside the silver lake. 
" What/' said the Mohawk, " wouldst 
thou have me do 1 " 
" Across the water, sir, be pleased to 
take 
Me and my children in thy bark ca- 
noe." 

" Ah ! " said the Chief, " thou knowest 
not, I think, 
The legend of the lake, — hast ever 
heard 
That in its wave the stoutest boat will 
sink, 
If any passenger shall speak a word 1 " 

" Full well we know the Indian's strange 
belief," 
The lady answered, with a civil 
smile; 
" But take us o'er the water, mighty 
Chief ; 
In rigid silence we will sit the while." 

Thus they embarked, but ere the little 
boat 
Was half across the lake, the woman 
gave 
Her tongue its wonted play — but still 
they float, 
And pass iu safety o'er the utmost 
wave ! 

Safe on the shore, the warrior looked 
amazed. 
Despite the stoic calmness of his 
race ; 
No word he spoke, but long the Indian 
gazed 
In moody silence in the woman's face. 

" What think you now ? " the lady gayly 
said; 
" Safely to land your frail canoe is 
brought ! 
No harm, you see, has touched a single 
head ! 
So superstition ever comes to naught ! " 

Smiling, the Mohawk said, " Our safety 
shows 
That God is merciful to old and 
young ; 



Thanks unto the Great Spirit ! — well 
he knows 
The pale-faced woman cannot hold 
her tongue ! " 



THE IMPARTIAL JUDGE. 

A PERSIAN TALE. 

To good Ben Asher — of immortal 

fame — 
In eager haste a worthy subject came. 
And, bowing low before the Sultan, 

cried, 
" Prince of Believers ! who has ne'er 

denied 
Impartial justice to the meanest slave. 
Some fitting punishment I humbly crave 
On one who in my house has wrought a 

shame ; 
A deed of violence I need not name 
In further speech ; for. Sire ! the fearful 

fact 
Was seen by those who seized him in the 

act ! " 
" Go, bring him here ! " the Sultan said; 

" but first 
Put out the lights. The villain's face 

accurst 
I would not see." Now, when all this 

was done. 
The Sultan, standing by, commanded 

one 
To seize and stab the culprit to the 

heart ! 
" Now light the lamps ! " The Sultan 

then (apart 
To his Vizier, the while his hands he 

raised 
Devoutly heavenward) said, "God be 

praised 
For this that I behold ! " The Vizier 

asked. 
What favor Heaven had done in this, 

that tasked 
The Sultan's gratitude ? "I feared my 

son," 
Ben Asher said, " this dreadful deed had 

done ; 
And, meaning still that justice should 

prevail, 
And fearing lest my doting heart should 

fail, 
I durst not see the man till he was dead ; 
Judge, then, my joy," the trembling 

Sultan said. 



THE CONNOISSEURS. 



171 



" That, looking on the wretch so justly 

slaiu, 
I find, thank Heaven ! my terror was in 

vain ! " 



THE ELEPHANT'S SERMON. 

TRIARTE.9 

In olden times, when — it is said — 
The humblest of the brute creation 

(Though not in school or college bred) 
Possessed the art of conversation ; 

The Elephant, as chief High-Priest, 
Of brutes the proper censor morum, 

Assembled every bird and beast, 

And plainly laid their faults before 
'em. 

Some were of vanity accused 

(Though none by name the priest ad- 
dresses). 
And some their talents had abused 

By indolence or wild excesses ; 

And some were charged with envious 
minds. 

And some with foolish ostentation ; 
And not a few the censor finds 

Convict of wanton depredation. 

And some, the Elephant declares, 
Are basely cruel and malicious ; 

Some fail to mind their own affairs ; 
And most, in some respect, are vicious. 

The faithful Hound, the trusty Horse, 
The constant Dove, the modest Lin- 
net, 

The Sermon hear without remorse; 
Nay, find a deal of pleasure in it ! 

In brief, the best of all the crowd 

Are charmed to hear the wise prelec- 
tion ; 
The others frown, or rave aloud, 
Or hang their heads in deep de- 
jection. 

The Wolf and Tiger howl in wrath, 
To hear the parson's faithful chid- 
ing ; 

The Serpent hisses in his path ; 
The Worm goes wriggling to his hid- 



The Wasp and Hornet buzz their 
spite ; 
The Monkey mocks with hideous 
grinning ; 
The Fox goes sneaking out of sight. 
To wait another chance for sinning. 

" Ah, well ! " the Elephant exclaims, 
" Though ill enough ye seem to bear 
it, — 
(Remember, I have called no names ;) 
Whom the cap fits, may take and 
wear it ! " 



THE CONNOISSEURS. 



Within a wine-vault once arose 
A quarrel — so the story goes — 
Among the Bacchanalian crowd. 
So fierce and bitter, long and loud, 
It fairly threatened broken laws, 
And bloody noses, — all because 
Two parties held conflicting views 
About the fittest way to choose 
Their beverage ! Some stoutly hold, 
"A first-rate tap is always old ; 
At least, a thousand proofs attest 
The oldest always is the best. 
Not till the cunning spiders spin 
A million lines across the bin 
Do men of sense imbibe the juice ; 
Then, only then, 't is fit for use. 
Pure, mellow, fragrant, ripe ; in fine, 
Worthy the glorious name of wine .' " 
The others just as roundly swear, 
"New wine is best. Age" (they de- 
clare) 
" Is far more apt to mar than mend 
Good wine (whatever fools pretend). 
And then 't is oft a mere device, 
Got up by rogues to raise the price ! " 
While thus with wrath that grew to 

rage. 
Their foolish feud the wranglers wage. 
Up s]5oke a stranger from Navarre : 
" Cease, gentlemen ! your wordy war! 
I've tippled wine of every sort, 
Canary, Malta, Xeres, Port, 
And many a famous tap beside ; 
All brands and ages have I tried, — 
The white, the red, the old, the new. 
The good, the bad, the false, the true; 
I 've drunk in cellar, booth, aud inn ; 



172 



THE ROYAL CONCERT. 



I 've drunk from bottle, cask, and skin ; 
And if there be a judge of wine, 
To know the fair, the foul, the fine, 
In glass or bumper, cup or can, — 
By jolly Bacchus ! I 'm the man ! 
Crecle experto ! Take my word. 
For all the nonsense you have heard 
About the charm of ' old ' or ' new,' 
'T is trial only tests the true ! 
Old wine may still be wretched stuff, 
And new wine excellent enough 
For men or gods ! No rule on earth, 
Save drinking, can decide its worth, 
Give me good wine, and I engage 
I '11 not inquire about its age ! " 



In Books and Art some bid us seek 
The highest worth in the " antique " : 
While other critics (just as wise) 
No genius but the " modern " priiie : 
In judging either, I protest 
I think the toper's rule is best ! 



THE KOYAL CONCEET. 

TRIAETE. 

The animals once, — so the legends re- 
port, — 
To honor the Lion, their popular 
king, 
A concert proposed, in his majesty's 
court, 
At which all the brutes were invited 
to sing. 

Not alU — I should say, as a lover of 
truth, — 
For somehow or other the managers 
missed 
The principal matter, and managed, in 
sooth. 
To have the best singers left out of 
the list ! 

Not a Nightingale, Wood-Thrush, or 
Blackbird was in it ; 
Nay, even the Lark and Canary were 
slighted ; 
No mention was made of the musical 
Linnet ; 
But all of the others were warmly in- 
vited ! 



There was plenty of jealousy, you may 
be sure, 
And wrangling enough, — as is al- 
ways the case 
When the cleverest maestro attempts to 
secure 
For each of his singers the properest 
place. 

'Tis settled at last; the rehearsal is 
done ; 
And now for the Concert the vocal- 
ists meet, 
With no fear of failure, for every 
one 
What he 's wanting in talent makes 
up in conceit ! 

A couple of Hornets the tenOr es- 
sayed ; 
The Crickets attempted the treble 
and alto ; 
The hasso (of course) by a Donkey was 
brayed ; 
While to Locusts and Frogs was as- 
signed the contralto ! 

The singers commence ! — but no an- 
swering cheers 
Reward their endeavors, — the audi- 
ence swore 
(While some ran away and some stopt 
up their ears) 
That never was music so murdered 
before ! 

At this, the performers, abating their 
noise. 
Sought, each for himself, some in- 
genious excuse ; 
And straight on his fellows with vigor 
employs 
The fiercest reproaches and foulest 
abuse. 

The Frogs said the Crickets were quite 
out of place ; 
Such villainous treble they never had 
heard ; 
The Crickets replied by denouncing the 
hass ; 
A Donkey sing bass "? — it was truly 
absurd ! 

" 'T was the fault of the Frogs ! " was 
the Donkey's reply ; 
" 'T is clearly the Hornets' ! " the 
Locusts exclaim ; 



THi; FIGHTING COCKS. 



173 



The Hornets returned, " 'T is a thunder- 
ing lie ! " 
And on their accusers retorted the 
blame. 

Then the King of the Beasts, who could 
bear it no more. 
Looked down from his throne, with a 
growl and a grin, 
And thus spoke his mind, in a terrible 
roar. 
Which silenced at once their obstrep- 
erous din ; — 

" Go ! — out of my hearing, ye ignorant 
crew ; 
Ere it came to the trial, each im- 
pudent wight 
Was boasting the wonderful things he 
could do; 
Quick ! out of my hearing and out of 
my sight \" 



So in human affairs, when pretenders, 
who once 
In arrogant boasting had vied with 
each other. 
Meet a common disaster, — then every 
dunce 
Excuses himself by accusing another ! 



THE BARN-YAED CRITICS. 



A Pig and Sheep together slept 
In the same farm-yard ; and with 
these 

A gallant Coch his vigils kept, — 
Who, with his fellows, dwelt in peace. 

" A pleasant sort of life is this," 
The Porker said. " Say, Madam 
Sheep ! 

Is not the highest earthly bliss 
To lie at ease, and eat and sleep ? 

" For me, I think the perfect leisure 

And luxury in which we live. 
Worth more than all the active pleas- 
ure 
That men or gods have power to 
give ! " 



The woolly dame has naught to say, — 
Too meek to answer; though she 
tries, 

While listening in a civil way. 
To look (in vain !) extremely wise! 

But Chanticleer, who chanced to hear 
These sage- reflections, cocked his eye, 

Gave a shrill crow his throat to clear, 
And thus to Piggie made reply : — 

" A sleepy life, I must confess. 
Were very little to my taste ; 

To live — like you — in idleness. 
Of time is, sure, a foolish waste. 

" To rule the roost, and strut about. 
That 's happiness, in my belief ; 

A little sleep is well, no doubt. 
But, for one's health, it should be 
brief. 

" In fact, I 've tried it ; and I find 
One's slumbers should be always 
light ; 
Sleep surely stupefies the mind, 

While watching makes it clear and 
bright." 

While thus they argue, loud and long, 
The patient Sheep has listened well ; 

But which is right and which is wrong 
Is something more than she can tell. 

She little dreams the wranglers draw 
(Like other critics, great and small) 

Each from himself the narrow law 
By which he seeks to govern all ! 



THE EIGHTING COCKS. 



A FINE old cock — a cock renowned. 
In brief, for many a mile around 
His native farm-yard — came at length 
With a young cock to pit his strength : 
A callow chick, who fought so well. 
Despite the odds, that — strange to 

tell — 
The elder was compelled to yield. 
And, fairly vanquished, leave the field 
And laurel to his youthful foe, 
Who now set up a lusty crow, 
As dunghill victors always will, 
In pride of courage, strength, or skill. 



1T4 



TEE LIZARDS. 



All breathless with the battle's heat, 
The other sought a safe retreat, 
Where thus he gave reflection tongue : 
" Well fought — by Jove ! — for one so 

young ! 
Give him the proper age and height, 
He 'd make, no doubt, a pretty fight ! " 

No more our philosophic bird 
With his late foe was seen or heard 
In close debate, for well he knows 
That words, at last, may come to blows ; 
And with a chick so fierce and tough, 
One trial clearly was enough ! 

But soon it chanced occasion lent 
A turn to give his temper vent ; 
A neighbor truculent and bold 
Despite his years (for he was old, 
And long had gloried in the praise 
Of brave exploits in former daj^s), 
Our hero forced into a fight. 
And, rallying with all his might. 
Soon drove him fairly from the ground ! 

Alone at last, — he looked around, 
And seeing that the coast was clear, 
That none the monologue might hear, 
Thus to himself expressed his mind : 
" What unexpected things we find ! 
For such an old historic cock 
How well he bore the battle shock ! 
How venerable age appears ! 
And so I spared him — for his years ! " 



How shrewdly men contrive to hide. 
E'en from themselves, their wounded 
pride ! 



THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE 
ORGAN. 



A Nightingale who chanced to hear 
An Organ's deep and swelling tone, 

Was wont to lend a careful ear. 

That so she might improve her own. 

One evening, while the Organ's note 
Thrilled through the wood, and Phil- 
omel 

Sat tuning her melodious throat 
To imitate its wondrous swell, 

A twittering Sparrow, hopping near, 
Said, " Prithee, now, be pleased to 
state 



What from those wooden pipes you hear 
That you can wish to imitate ? 

" I do not hesitate to say. 

Whatever the stupid thing can do 
To please us, in a vocal way, 

That very Organ learned from you ! 

" Of all sweet singers none is greater 
Than Philomel ; but, on my word ! 

To imitate one's imitator, — 
Can aught on earth be more absurd ? " 

" Nay," said the Nightingale, " if aught 
From me the Organ ever learned, 

By him no less have I been taught, 
And thus the favor is returned. 

" Thus to my singing — don't j^ou see ? 

Some needed culture I impart ; 
For Nature's gifts, as all agree. 

Are finest when improved by Art ! " 



Whate'er the foolish Sparrow thought, 
The Nightingale (so Wisdom votes) 

Was wise in choosing to be taught 
E'en by an Organ's borrowed notes. 

And hence the Student may obtain 
Some useful rules to guide his course : 

Shun self-conceit ; nor e'er disdain 
Instruction from the humblest source ! 



THE LIZARDS. 



A PAMorrs Naturalist, whose knife 
Made cruel work with insect life. 
Dissecting muscle, vein, and nerve, 
Remorseless, — Avith intent to serve 
The cause of Science, and no tliought 
Of all the suflferiug he wrought, — 
Two lizards in his garden caught, 
And straight proceeded to dissect 
The biggest one, and then inspect 
The severed parts, head, tail, and skin, 
And all the mysteries within ; 
And as each part is made to pass 
Beneath his microscopic glass, 
Pie takes his pen, and in a book 
Records each scientific look. 
For future use ; then takes his pen. 
And with his glass begins again. 



THE LACE-WEAVERS. 



175 



Weary at length, he stops to hear 
Remarks of friends. Some only sneer 
At what they deem mere waste of time, 
If not — for cruelty — a crime ; 
While others marvel much to learn 
(As at the glass they take their turn) 
What mighty things are lodged within 
The compass of a lizard's skin ! 
While thus they talk of what the eye 
Of Science caused them to descry 
In the dead lizard, sooth to say. 
His living brother ran away ! 

Arrived at home, he quickly sends 
An invitation to his friends 
To come and hear what wondrous things 
From his late tour the traveler brings ; 
Then tells the story you have heard 
(Above), omitting not a word 
Of all that to his friend occurred. 
" Strange as it seems," the lizard cries, 
" 'T is true ! I saw it with these eyes ! 
Now if such things in us there be 
As men of Science stare to see. 
And straightway write the items down, — 
Say, shall we heed the stupid clown 
Who calls us lizards ' vermin ' 1 Nay ! 
Whatever envious folks may say, 
We 're clearly noble. Let us claim 
The rank that suits the lizard's name ! " 



When keen Reviewers criticise 
The stuff that puny authors write 

(Which worms alone should analj^ze), 
They only give the fools delight. 

Who cry, " The book is surely great 

Which so much interest can create ! " 



FLINT AND STEEL. 

TEIAETE. 

The Flint and Steel — the story goes — 
Old friends by natural relation. 

Fell out, one day, and, like two foes, 
Indulged in bitter altercation. 

" I 'm weary," said the angry Flint, 
" Of being beat ; 't is past conceal- 
ing ; 

Your conduct (witness many a dint 
Upon my sides !) is most unfeeling. 

" And what reward have I to show ? 
What sort of payment do you render. 



To one who bears each hateful blow 
That you may blaze in transient 
splendor 1 " 

" You seem to think yourself abused," 
The Steel replied with proper spirit ; 

"But, say, unless with me you 're used. 
What praise of service do you merit ? 

" Your worth, as any one may see 
(For all your feeling of defiance), 

Is simply nought, unless with me 
You keep your natural alliance." 

" True ! " said the Flint; " but there 's 
no call, 
Whate'er mj worth, for you to flout 
it; 
My value, sir, may be but small ; 

But think what yours would be with- 
out it ! " 



The writer who depends alone 
On genius, hoping to be able 

To cope with scholars fully grown, 
May profit by this simple fable. 

As from the Steel no fire comes forth, 
Until it feels the Flint's abrasion ; 

So genius is of little worth 
Without the aid of cultivation. 



THE LACE-WEAVERS. 

TEIAETE. 

Once in Madrid — the story goes — 
Between two artisans arose 
A question of such special weight. 
It held them long in grave debate, 
Though each — 't is only fair to say — 
Discussed it in a candid way, 
Unlike debaters who, in sooth. 
Care more for victory than truth. 

Both men were weavers, we are 
told : 
One made galloons, or lace-of-gold ; 
The other lace-of-linen, fine 
At once in texture and design. 
" Who," said the former, " would sup- 
pose 
That while (as everybody knows) 
My lace of purest gold is wrought. 
For vastly less it may be bought 



176 



THE SHAM LIBRARY. 



Than yours, my neignbor, which, in- 
stead 
Of gold, is made of flaxen thread ? 
Pray tell me why (/ can't divine) 
Yours sells for thrice as much as mine 1 " 
" Faith ! " said the other, '•' to my mind, 
The reason is not hard to find ; 
You work in gold, and I in thread ; 
If, saying so, the whole were said, 
Your lace would surely far exceed 
My lace in value. 'T is agreed ! 
You work in gold ; I grant it, — still 
Your best galloons show little skill 
Compared with what the eye may 

trace 
In my fine webs of linen lace ; 
Eich workmanship, my worthy friend, 
Gives value gold can never lend ! " 



Hence critics, who are fain to smile 

When readers praise an author's style. 

As if the matter were the test 

Of what in authorship is best, 

May learn how much the writer's art. 

By style and finish may impart 

To works which else had failed to 

claim 
The worth that gives undying fame ! 



THE SHAM LIBRARY. 

TKIARTE. 

Once, in Madrid, there dwelt a worthy 
man. 
And wealthy too, of whom ' t was 
truly said 
His house — the best the architects could 
plan — 
Was vastly better furnished than his 
head ! 

And yet one room this splendid dwell- 
ing lacked 
A wealthy squire should have, beyond 
a doubt ; 
To wit, a Library, — a thing in fact 
" No gentleman can fairly live with- 
out." 

So said a neighbor, adding his advice 
That one be built without the least 
delay; 



" And let," he said, the room be large 
and nice ; 
By Jove ! I would n't wait another 
day ! " 

" Egad ! " he answered, " I must find a 
spot 
Somewhere about the house ; of course 
I know 
A man wants books, and books, sir, shall 
be got ; 
If not for use, they 're requisite for 
show ! 

" I have it now ! my carpenter shall 
use 
What space he chooses in the northern 
wing ; 
One sees from there the loveliest of 
views ; 
Eaith ! on reflection, it is just the 
thing ! 

" I 'n have it finished in the finest style ; 

Such as may suit a gentleman's abode ; 

With doors and shelves ('t will cost a 

pretty pile !) 

All stained and gilded in the latest 

mode. 

" And then I '11 send my trusty servant 
Bob 
(An honest fellow and the best of 
cooks. 
And always clever at a tasty job). 
By careful measurement, to buy the 
books." 

But ere the work was done, from floor 
to shelf. 
The owner, pondering on the great 
expense 
Incurred already, said within himself: 
" This room, egad ! is really quite im- 
mense ! 

"With handsome books these cases to 
supply 
Will cost a sum of money rather tall ! 
But since I merely aim to please the 
eye, 
Pray, what 's the use of real books at 
"all? 

"A thousand gilded backs will do as 
well, 
Lettered to look like volumes all 



THE TURKEY AND THE CROW. 



177 



Mere wooden backs in fact, but who can 
tell 
They are not real, I should like to 
know ! " 

So said, so done ; and now at length be- 
hold 
All things complete. With pride the 
owner looks 
To see — at little cost of precious 
gold — 
His wooden cases filled with wooden 
books ! 



" A fool ! " you say, " to spend his 
money so ! " 
Well — not a very Solomon, indeed ; 
But wiser, sure, than they who buy for 
show 
The costly volumes which they never 
read ! 



THE GOAT AND THE HORSE. 



A Goat who lent a ravished ear 
A Fiddle's harmony to hiar, — 
The wliile unconsciously his feet 
The viol's measures gayly beat, — 
Unto a Horse, who near him stood, 
So rapt he quite forgot his food 
111 the sweet music of the hour, 
(Such was the player's wondrous 

power !) 
Thus, when the witching strains were 

done, 
A boastful monologue begun : 
" My honest neighbor, do you know 
Whence came the sounds that charmed 

us so"? 
The viol which so sweetly sings 
Owes all its music to the Strings ; 
And those same strings — be pleased to 

note — 
Came from the bowels of a Goat ! 
(A mate of mine you may have seen 
With me upon the village green ; 
Where, side by side, we used to play 
Through many a pleasant summer's 

day.) 
And who can tell, my worthy friend, 
But /, some happy day, may lend 
The like assistance to the art 
12 



Which has such power to charm the 

heart ? " 
" True ! " said the Nag ; "but not alone 
Are strings required to give the tone 
The viol boasts ; pray, do not I 
From my long tail the hairs supply 
With which the Bow so deftly brings 
The music from the stupid strings 1 
The cost to me is surely small 
(A little fright, — no pain at all). 
Then, for the pleasure that I give 
I have my payment while I live 
In conscious pride ; while you, instead. 
Must wait for yours till you are dead ! " 



Some authors thus, who vainly strive 
For fame while they are yet alive. 
Write on, in hope that after death 
Their works may win applauding 
breath ! 



THE TURKEY AND THE CROW. 

TEIARTE. 

A POMPOUS old Turkey, conceited and 
vain. 
As deeming himself of a lordlier 
breed 
Than the wandering birds of the forest 
and plain. 
Once challenged a Crow to a trial of 
speed. 

If you e'er saw a Crow as he sailed 

through the sky. 
And noticed how lightly and SAviftly 

he went. 
Compared with a Turkey attempting to 

fly, 

Of this notable match you will guess 
the event. 

" I say ! " screamed the Gobbler, as 
falling behind 
He saw his antagonist certain to win, 
"Look here! did it ever occur to your 
mind 
You 're as black as the deuce and as 
ugly as sin 1 

" Moreover," he cries, " I have fre- 
quently heard 
You 're the odious tool of the treach- 
erous Fates ; 



178 



THE SILKWORM AND THE CATERPILLAR. 



A wicked, uncanny, Plutonian bird ; 
A monster of evil whom every one 
hates ! 

" Away with yourself ! it is loathsome 
to see 
A fowl who on carrion feeds with de- 
light ; 
From birds who are decent no wonder 
you flee ; 
The faster, the better ! — quick ! out 
of my sight ! " 

The match being over, the winner re- 
plied : 
" You sjioke of my color, — that is n't 
the thing ; 
The question, I think, which we met to 
decide 
Was which of the two is the fleeter 
of wing." 



Some critics, aware they are likely to 
fail 
In argument, follow a similar plan ; 
The works of the author 't were vain to 
assail, 
And so they endeavor to injure the 
man ! 



THE BEE AND THE CUCKOO. 



A Bee, whose dainty ear had grown 
Quite weary of the monotone 
Which ever from the Cuckoo's throat 
Repeated one unvarying note, 
At last besought the tiresome bird, 
For mercy's sake, to change the word ; 
" 'T is ' Cuckoo ! Cuckoo I ' all day long ! 
Pray, cease your egotistic song : 
It makes me nervous, sooth to say, 
And quite unfits to work or play ! " 
" You call my song monotonous 1 
Well, since yon choose to make a fuss 
Aboiit 7117/ singing, tell me why 
(Exclaimed the Cuckoo, in reply) 
Your honey-cells you always frame 
Alike, — in size and shape the same 1 
If r?n monotonous, — confess 
The fault you find is youi-s no less ! " 
" Nay ! " said the Bee, " a thing of use 
Has in its worth a fair excuse 



For many a fault that else would be 
A hateful thing to hear or see ; 
While arts designed to please the taste 
With varied beauties must be graced; 
And, lacking these, thej^ serve alone 
To pain us, — like your ' Cuckoo ' 
tone ! " 



THE SILKWORM AND THE 
CATERPILLAR. 



Once on a time — if tales are true — 
Among the animals a movement 

Was started by the foremost few 
To aid their mutual improvement ; 

A scheme was planned — whate'er the 
name — 

To mend their physical condition; 
And in its nature much the same 

As our " Industrial Exposition." 

To this the tribes of every sort 
And element — fur, fin, and feather — 

In friendly rivalry resort. 

And their inventions bring together. 

Among a hundred useful things, 

And many more designed for winning 

-^Esthetic pi'aise, the Silkworm brings 
A knot of thread of home-made spin- 
ning ; 

A silk cocoon ! — how soft and bright ! 

All eyes are glistening with pleasure ; 
How charming to the touch and sight ! 

And then, for fabrics, what a treas- 
ure ! 

The very Mole is not so blind 

But she can see the thing is pretty ; 

And "Premium First" declares the 
mind 
Of the unanimous " Committee ! " 

At last a croaking voice is heard; 

The Caterpillar's, in dissension ; 
" Cocoons ! — a trifle — on my word ! 

And then they 're not a new inven- 
tion ! " 

The beasts, amazed, with one accord 
Cried, " Who is this, whose pert deci- 
sion 



THE MONKEY-TOURIST. 



179 



Would overrule our grave award, 

And treat our judgment with deri- 
sion ! " 

" I see ! " said Reynard (cunning elf!) 
" 'T is Mr. Caterpillar, surely ! 

The fellow makes cocoons himself, 
And thinks all others spin as poorly ! " 



When critics (would-be authors once) 
Would rob true Genius of her glory, 

One sees in each detracting dunce 
The Caterpillar of my story ! 



THE MONKEY-SHOWMAN. 



A MONKEY who, by many a prank, 
Had served a strolling mountebank. 
And long had sought, with curious 

eye. 
The secret of his arts to spy, 
Grew so inflated with conceit, 
He swore that there was not a feat 
His master did, to charm the ci'owd, 
But he could do, — were he allowed 
To show his skill. So, on a day 
When Mister Showman was away, 
And Jocho chanced to stay at home, 
He summoned all his friends to come 
And note how surely he would raise 
The customary shouts of praise. 

He made his bow, and straight began 
To play the " India-Rubber man," 
Who in contorted shapes appears. 
And stands — at last — upon his ears ! 
Next, dances on the swinging wire ; 
Then, as applauding shouts inspire 
To bolder deeds, he mounts with ease 
And safely braves the high trapeze ; 
Then takes a musket, and with skill 
Performs the Prussian soldier's drill ; 
At last — as was his master's way, 
To close the wonders of the day — 
He brings the " Magic Lantern " out. 
Darkens the room, and talks about 
The curious things that on the screen 
By watchful eyes will now be seen ; 
Then moves the plates of painted glass 
From side to side, and as they pass, 
Announces in a pompous speech 
The name and character of each 
Delightful scene that greets their eyes ! 



What can it mean 1 — no cheers 
arise ! 
A storm of hisses come instead, 
So fierce the frightened monkey fled, 
And, having reached a safer place. 
Was told the cause of his disgrace ; 
To wit, that, while all else was right, 
His " Magic Lantern " had no light ! 



How bootless are the author's pains 
Who lacks illuminating brains ! 



THE OIL-MERCHANT'S ASS. 

TRIARTE. 

An Ass, whose customary toil 
Was bearing heavy sacks of oil 
(The kind which often serves, at night. 
Our houses, shops, and streets to light), 
His labor over for the day. 
Straight to his stable took his way ; 
But, as he sought to enter there, 
The groping donkey, unaware. 
Against the door-hasp hit his nose; 
Whereat his indignation rose 
To sucli a pitch, he roundly swore, 
(As many an ass has done before !) 
And thus, in wrath, expi'essed his mind : 
" By Jove ! one might as well be blind, 
As break his noddle in the dark 
Eor want of light ! A single spark 
Had saved my skin ; but not a ray 
My master gives to light my way. 
I, who for others daily toU, 
And fill a thousand lamps with oil. 
For lack of one — so justice goes ! — 
Against the door must break my nose ! " 



The miser, who, to gather peK 

For thankless heirs, defrauds himself ; 

The ignoramus, proud to show 

His gilded volumes all a-row, — 

Such men as these may we not class 

(Poor donkeys !) with the Oilman's Ass 1 



THE MONKEY-TOURIST. 

YRIARTE. 

A MONKEY clad in cloth-of-gold 
(So in the proverb we are told) 



180 



LOVE AND JOY. 



Will be a Monkey still. The aim 
Of this new fable is the same ; 
Pray, listen while I tell in rhyme 
The tale how, once upon a time, 
A Monkey, drest in garments brigh*" 
With gaudy colors such as might 
Become a Harlequin, set out — 
To show her finery, no doubt — 
Upon her travels. In what way, 
By ship or coach, I cannot say ; 
'T is only kno^vll her journey ran 
As far abroad as Tetiian : 
A country — as I understand — 
On maps set down as " Monkey-land " ; 
And widely famous as the place 
Where most abound the simian race, 
And where, one scarcely needs to add, 
The chattering tribes are simply clad 
In their own skins, and know no moi'S 
Of dress than Mother Eve, before 
She ate of the forbidden fruit. 
And donned, for shame, her fig-leaf suit. 
Here — as the reader may suppose — 
Our lady-tourist proudly shows. 
With many a change, her gay attire, 



Which all the natives much admire , 
And think the Avearer must possess 
A mind as brilliant as her dress, 
And, thereupon, the stranger made 
Their leader in a coming raid 
For forage, in the country round, 
Where monkey-provender was found. 
Alas, the day ! her clothing proved 
An obstacle where'er she moved ; 
And when the weary day was done, 
Her gaudy garments, — every one, — 
That in the morning looked so fine. 
Were strewn in rags along the line 
Through which the expedition led ; 
And she, worn out and nearly dead. 
At night was but the scoff and scorn 
Of those who hailed her "queen" at 
morn ! 



A thousand instances confess 
That judging people by their dress, 
As bright or brave, is a mistake 
That men as well as monkeys make ! 



FABLES Al^D LEGENDS 

OF MANY COUNTRIES. 



TO MY THKEE DAUGHTERS, 

THIS LITTLE BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 



LOVE AND JOY. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

Long, long ago, ere Sin had come 

To make the earth forlorn, 
Somewhere, within an Eastern home, 

Two pretty babes were born. 

The younger was a maiden fair , 

The elder was a boy; 
And, for their names, the infant pair 

Were christened Love and Joy. 

And as they grew in years and strength, 
Together they would rove 



As merry mates, until at length 
Joy seemed the twin of Love ! 

And so, at length, it came to pass 

That all the neighbors said. 
Some happy day the lad and lass 

Were certain to be wed. 

In sooth, such happy mates they seemed, 
And so attached at heart, — 

The pretty pair, — who would have 
deemed 
That they would ever part 1 

But so it fell ; alas, the wrong ! 
And woe betide the day 



THE TWO CHURCH-BUILDERS. 



181 



That Sin, the monster ! came along 
And frightened Joy away ! 

And so poor Love, when Joy had flown, 

Since he could not abide 
To live unwedded and alone, 

Took Sorrow for his bride ; 

As sad a bride as e'er was seen 

To grace a marriage-bed ; 
With scowling brow and murky mien. 

And cypress round her head. 

And to the twain a child was born, 
That bore of each a jmrt, — 

The mother's countenance forlorn. 
The father's tender heart. 

" Pity" they called her, — gentle 
child ; 

And from her infant days 
Her voice was ever sweet and mild, 

And winning were her ways. 

And once, ere she had learned to walk, 
. While in her cradle-nest, 
A dove, that fled the cruel hawk, 
Sought safety on her breast. 

The robin-redbreast came to seek 

A home where Pity dwelt ; 
And all things timorous and weak 

Her kind compassion felt. 

Ah, sweet, sad face ! her mixed descent 

Was shown in her attire. 
And with the mother's cypress blent 

The myrtle of her sire. 

And ever since to woman's height 
The maiden grew, she roams 

Through all the world, an angel bright. 
To gladden human homes. 

Her ofiice still to follow where 
Her mother's feet have strayed. 

And soothe and heal, with tender care. 
The wounds the dame has made. 

But both are mortal, sages write. 
And so they both must die ; 

Sorrow, at last, will cease to smite. 
And Pity cease to sigh. 

And then will Joy return, they say, 
From heaven, where she had flown, 

And Love, forever and for aye, 
Be married to his own. 



THE TWO CHURCH-BUILDEES. 

AN ITALIAN LEGEND. 

A FAMOUS king would build a church, 

A temple vast and grand ; 
And, that the praise might be his own. 

He gave a strict command 
That none should add the smallest gift 

To aid the work he planned. 

And when the mighty dome was done, 

Within the noble frame, 
Upon a tablet broad and fair. 

In letters all aflame 
With burnished gold, the people read 

The royal builder's name. 

Now when the King, elate with pride. 
That night had sought his bed. 

He dreamed he saw an angel come 
(A halo round his head). 

Erase the royal name, and write 
Another in its stead. 

What could it mean ? Three times that 
night 

That wondrous vision came ; 
Three times he saw that angel hand 

Erase the royal name. 
And write a woman's in its stead, 

In letters all aflame. 

Whose could it be 1 He gave com- 
mand 

To all about his throne 
To seek the owner of the name 

That on the tablet shone ; 
And so it was the courtiers found 

A widow poor and lone. 

The King, enraged at what he heard. 
Cried, " Bring the culprit here ! " 

And to the woman trembling sore 
He said, " 'T is very clear 

That you have broken my command ; 
Now let the truth appear ! " 

"Your Majesty," the Widow said, 

"I can't deny the truth ; 
I love the Lord, — my Lord and yours, — 

And so, in simple sooth, 
I broke your Majesty's command 

(I crave your royal ruth !) 

" And since I had no money, Sire, 
Why, I could only pray 



II 



THE BEACON-LIGHT. 



That God would bless your Majesty ; 

And when along the way 
The horses drew the stones, I gave 

To one a wisp of hay ! " 

"Ah ! now I see," the King exclaimed, 

" Self-glory was my aim ; 
The woman gave for love of God, 

And not for worldly fame ; 
'T is my command the tablet bear 

The pious widow's name ! " 



THE WIND AND THE EOSE. 



AN APOLOG0E. 



A LITTLE red Rose bloomed all alone 
In a hedge by the highway side ; 

And the Wind came by with a pitying 
moan, 
And thus to the floweret cried : 



"You are choked with dust from the 
sandy ledge ; 

Now see what a friend can do ! 
I will pierce a hole in the tangled hedge 

And let the breeze come through." 



" Nay, let me be, I am well enough ! " 
Said the Eose in deep dismay ; 

But the Wind is always rude and rough, 
And of course he had his way. 



And the breeze blew soft on the little 
red Eose , 
But now she was sore afraid. 
For the naughty boys, her ancient 
foes, 
Came through where the gap was 
made. 



" I see," said the Wind, when he came 
again, 

And looked at the trembling flower, 
" You are out of place ; it is very plain 

You are meant for a lady's bower," 



" Nay, let me be ! " said the shuddering 
Eose; 
" No sorrow I ever had known 



Till you came here to break my repose ; 
Now, please to let me alone ! " 

TII. 

But the wUl of the Wind is strong as 
death. 
And little he recked her cries ; 
He plucked her up with his mighty 
breath. 
And away to the town he flies. 

Till. 

Oh, all too rough was the windy ride 
For a Eose so weak and small ; 

And soon her leaves on every side 
Began to scatter and fall. 



' Now, what is this ? " said the wonder- 
ing Wind, 

As the Eose in fragments fell ; 
' This paltry stem is all I find, — 

I am sure I meant it well ! " 



"It means just this: that a meddling 
friend," 

Said the dying stalk, " is sure 
To mar the matter he aimed to mend. 

And kill where he meant to cure ! " 



THE BEACON-LIGHT. 



A GERMAN LEGEND. 



" Go seaward, son, and bear a light ! " 
Up spoke the sailor's wife ; 

" Thy father sails this stormy night 
In peril of his life " 



" His ship tnat sailed to foreign lands 
This hour may heave in sight. 

Oh, should it wreck upon the sands ! 
Go, son, and bear a light ! " 



He lights a torch and seaward goes ; 

Naught boots the deed, I doubt. 
The rain it rains, the wind it blows ; 

And soon the light goes but. 



The boy comes back : " O mother dear. 
Bid me not go again ; 



KING ERIC'S TRIUMPH. 



183 



No torch can live, 't is very clear, 
Before the wind and rain ! " 



" No sailor's blood hast thou, I trow. 

To fear a stormy night ; 
Let rains descend, let tempests blow. 

Go, son, and bear a light ! " 



Once more he lights the torch, and 
goes 

Toward the foaming main. 
The rain it rains, the wind it blows ; 

Out goes the torch again! 



The boy comes back : " mother dear. 
The storm puts out the light ; 

The night is drear, and much I fear 
The woman dressed in white ! " 

VIII. 

" No sailor's blood hast thou, I trow. 

To tremble thus before 
A mermaid's face. Take heart of 
grace, 

And seek again the shore ! " 



The boy comes back : " mother dear. 

Go thou unto the strand ; 
My father's voice I sure did hear 

In tones of stern command ! " 



And now the mother lights the torch. 
And, see ! the kindling rays 

Have caught the thatch ! from roof to 
porch 
The hut is all ablaze ! 



" What hast thou done 1 " the urchin 
cries ; 

" Oh piteous sight to see ! 
Cold is the night ; Oh wretched plight ! 

Nor house nor home have we ! " 



" No sailor's blood hast thou, I wis. 

When torches fail to burn, 
A blazing hovel — such as this — 

May serve as good a turn ! " 



Joy to tne sailor ! see ! he clears 
The shoals on either hand, 



Thanks to the light ! and now he steers 
safety to the land ! 



KING ERIC'S TRIUMPH. 



FEOM THE GERMAN OP SEIDL. 



At Upsala's high altar. 
The tallest in the land, 

And bright with blazing candles. 
See royal Eric stand. 

And thus he speaks to Heaven, 
With lifted voice and hand : 



" Great God ! in Thy protection 
We ever safely dwell; 

Who makes the Lord his refuge 
Hath wisely done and well." 

And hark ! the lofty anthem 
The choir and organ swell. 



Now while the dome is sounding 
With this triumphant strain. 

In comes a panting courier, 

" King ! the Dane ! the Dane ! 

Skalater and his soldiers 
Are pouring on the plain! " 



But as on ears unheeding 
The startling message fell; 

King Eric still is chanting, 
While choir and organ swell, 

" Who makes the Lord his refuge 
Hath wisely done and well ! " 



In bursts another courier. 
Hot messenger of Fate, — 

" The Dane ! the Dane approaches I 
O King, no longer wait ! 

Fly ! seek some surer refuge ; 
The Dane is at the gate ! " 



What though ti' hundred voices 
The tale of terror tell ? 

King Eric still is chanting, 
Wliile choir and organ swell, 

" Who makes the Lord his refuge 
Hath wisely done and well ! " 



184 



THE BRAHMIN'S AIR-CASTLE. 



VII. 

In comes another courier, 
But ere his voice he found 

To tell his tale of horror, 
He feels a mortal wound ; 

Beneath a Danish sabre. 
His head is on the ground. 

VIII. 

Then rose a fearful clamor. 
That drowned the Danish drums ; 

" With seven hundred soldiers, 
The fiend, Skalater, comes ! 

"Where now are king and country, 
Our altars and our homes 1 " 



'T was then the pious monarch 

(As holy books declare) 
Took up the golden crucifix. 

And waved it in the air, 
And called upon the God of Hosts 

In agonizing prayer. 



And from the seven sacred wounds 
(One for each bleeding gash 

That in his death the Saviour bore) 
Came forth a blinding flash ; 

In splendor full a hundred-fold. 
The heathen to abash. 



Whereat seven hundred Danish men 

In humble worship fell ; 
While Eric and his people all 

The solemn anthem swell, 
" Who makes the Lord his refuge 

Hath wisely done and well ! " 



THE BRAHMIN'S AIR-CASTLE. 

A HINDOO FABLE. 

A BRAHMIN, haughty, indolent, and 

poor. 
Entered, one day, a potter's open door, 
And, lying lazily upon the ground 
Among the earthen-ware that stood 

around 
In stately pyramids, at length began 
To think aloud ; and thus his fancies 



" With these small coins within my 

pocket, I 
Some pieces of this useful ware will 

buy, 
Which, at a profit, I will sell, and 

then 
Will purchase more ; and, turning this 

again 
In the same fashion, I will buy and 

sell 
Until my growing trade will thrive so 

well 
That I shall soon be rich ; so rich, in- 
deed, 
That I can buy whatever I may need 
For use qr luxury. And first of all 
I'll build a mansion, very grand and 

tall ; 
And then, of course, as suits a man of 

taste, 
I '11 have four wives, all beautiful and 

chaste. 
But one in beauty will excel the rest, 
And her, 't is certain, I shall love the 

best; 
Whereat the others (I foresee it) will 
Be jealous, and behave extremely ill ; 
Whereat, as they deserve, I shall be 

quick 
To beat the vixens well with this good 

stick." 
And in his reverie the fellow struck 
Among the pots and pans, (woe worth 

the luck!) 
With so much force they fell, and all 

around 
His foolish head the pieces strewed the 

ground. 
So fell the Brahmin's castle in the 

air ; 
And, further still, to make the matter 

square. 
And mend the damage done that luck- 
less day, 
With all he had the potter made him 

pay. 



This clever Hindoo fable, which (I 'm 
told 

By grave savans) is many centuries 
old, 

Bears its own moral, plain as any print ; 

And furnishes, besides, a lively hint 

Whence came that very charming mod- 
ern tale, 

" The Country Maiden and her Milking' 
Pail ! " 



I 



HOW IT CHANCED. 



185 



REASON AND VANITY. 

AN APOLOGUE. 

" Appeal to Reason ! " writes a sage 
Whose book, ou many a glowing page, 
Would teach the reader to control 
The workings of the human soul. 
The plan, no doubt, is often wise, 
But, should it fail, let me advise 
('T is safe to try it !) an appeal 
The hardest heart is sure to feel ; 
When Reason turns away her ear, 
Who knows but Vanity may hear ? 

As Chloe stood, one summer's day, — 
Young, giddy, handsome, vain, and 

gay,— 

Before her mirror, and essayed 
Her native charms by art to aid, 
A vagrant bee came buzzing round, 
And Chloe, frightened at the souud, 
Cried, " Mary, help ! Go, Lizzie, fetch 
A broom and kill the little wretch ! " 
Too late ! despite the bustling maids, 
The wanton imp at once invades 
Poor Chloe's lip, — the saucy thing ! 
And fixes there his ugly sting. 
The culprit caught, the maids prepare 
To kill the monster then and there ; 
When, trembling for his life, the Bee 
Makes this extenuating plea : 

" Forgive ! O beauteous queen, for- 
give 
My sad mistake ; for, as I live. 
Your mouth (I'm sorry, Goodness 

knows !) ■ 
I surely took it for a rose ! " 
" Poor insect ! " Chloe sighed, " I vow 
'T were very hard to kill him now, 
No harm the little fellow meant, 
And then he seems so penitent ; 
Besides, the pain was veiy small, 
I scarcely feel it now at all ! " 



WHO SHALL SHUT THE DOOR? 

EEOM THE GERMAN OP GOETHE. 

To-MOREOvtr is St. Martin's day, 

And Goody, loving elf, 
Has baked some puddings for her man, 

And put them on the shelf. 

Now both are lying snug in bed. 
And while the west-winds roar 



Old Gaffer unto Goody says, 

" Go, shut that slamming door ! " 

" I wish to rest," the dame replies, 
" Till morning's light appears ; 

For aught I care, that crazy door 
May slam a hundred years ! " 

With this the loving pair agreed 
(Since neither of them stirred) 

That he, or she, should bolt the door 
Who first should speak a word ! 

Two vagabonds, at midnight, found 

The door was off the latch, 
And not a single sight or sound 

Their eyes or ears could catch. 

They entered in, and spoke aloud, 
But no one answered. Why ? 

The bargain stopped the only mouths 
That could have made reply ! 

The puddings soon were eaten up, 

As Goody plainly heard. 
And cursed the robbers in her heart, 

But uttered not a word. 

And soon one vagabond exclaims, 

" I 'd like a sip of gin ; 
This cupboard smells extremely nice, 

I '11 poke about within. 

" A flask of schnapps, I 'm very sure. 

Is at my elbow here ; 
A hearty swig, to thirsty souls. 

Is mighty pleasant cheer ! " 

Up sprang old Gaffer in a trice : 
" Hein ! what is that you say ? 

The man who steals my Holland 
schnapps 
Shall deafly rue the day ! " 

Off go the rogues, and Goody cries, 
With something like a roar, 

" Old Gaffer, you have spoken first ! 
Now 20 and bolt the door ! " 



HOW IT CHANCED. 

AN ORIENTAL APOLOGUE. 



Dame Nature, when her work was 
done. 
And she had rested from creation. 



186 



THE THREE MASKS. 



Called up her creatures, one by one, 
To fix for each his life's duration. 



The ass came first, but drooped his 

ears 
> On learning that the dame intended 
That he should bear for thirty years 
His panniers ere his labor ended. 



So Nature, like a gentle queen 

(The story goes), at once relented. 

And changed the thirty to eighteen, 
Wherewith the ass was well con- 
tented. 



The dog came next, but plainly said 
So long a life could be but hateful ; 

So Nature gave him twelve instead. 
Whereat the dog was duly grateful. 



Next came the ape ; but Nature when 
He grumbled, like the dog and 
donkey. 
Instead of thirty gave him ten. 

Which quite appeased the angry 
monkey. 



At last came man ; how brief appears 
The term assigned, for work or pleas- 
ure ! 
" Alas ! " he cried, " but thirty years 1 
O Nature, lengthen out the meas- 
ure ! " 



" Well then, I give thee eighteen more 
(The ass's years) ; art thou con- 
tented ? " 
" Nay," said the beggar, " I implore 
A longer term." The dame con- 
sented. 

VIII. 

" I add the dog's twelve years beside." 
" 'T is not enough ! " " For thy per- 
sistence, 

I add ten more," the dame replied, 
" The period of the ape's existence." 



And thus of man's threescore and ten. 
The thirty years at the beginning 



Are his of right, and only then 

He wins whate'er is worth the winning. 



Then come the ass's eighteen years, 
A weary space of toil and trouble. 

Beset with crosses, cares, and fears, 
When joys grow less, and sorrows 
double. 



The dog's twelve years come on, at 
length, 

When man, the jest of every scorner, 
Bereft of manhood's pride and strength. 

Sits growling, toothless, in a corner. 



At last, the destined term to fill. 

The ape's ten years come lagging 
after. 

And man, a chattering imbecile, 
Is but a theme for childish laughter. 



THE THREE MASKS. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF HAKING. 
I. 

Upon the monarch's brow no shade is 

shown ; 
The royal purple hides the bloody 

throne ; 
He calls his vassals all, — the man of 

sin, — 
" Bring forth the maskers ! let the dance 

begin ! " 



The music sounds, and every face is 
glad, — 

All save the King's, and that is some- 
thing sad ; 

And, lo ! three snow-ivhite masks are 
passing now, 

And dark clouds gather on the mon- 
arch's brow. 



In robes of red the maskers now are 

seen, 
And black as midnight is the royal 

mien. 
In sahle mantles next the three appear, 
And the king's face is white with suddei 

fear. 



I 



THE GHOST IN ARMOR. 



187 



And now before the tlirone, with deep 

dismay, 
He sees three griuning skulls in grim 

array ; 
Whereat he falls in terror from his 

throne ! 
The masks have fled, and left him there 

alone. 



He calls his vassals : " Let each villain 
bare 

His visage ! " No, no juggling rogue is 
there ! 

He calls his page : " Now, fellow, get 
thee gone, 

And bring the Soothsayer ere to-mor- 
row's dawn ! " 



" Go tell the King," the Wise Man made 

reply, 
" He sends too late. God answers him, 

not I! 
When mortals look on visions such as 

this, 
Their own hearts tell them what the 

meaning is. 



" The first skull," quoth the reverend 

Sage, "declares 
How rank corruption rules the king's 

affairs ; 
The second says, ' Since corpses prop thy 

throne, 
Mankind shall gaze with horror on thine 

own!' 

VIII. 

" The third proclaims that whosoe'er 

has seen 
The other twain, before the morrow e'en 
Shall be the like himself ! Beware, I 

say. 
Beware the sable maskers in the play ! " 



Swift flies, at morn, the panting page to 

bring 
The fearful message to the waiting 

king ; 
White lies the monarch in his robes of 

red, 
On a black bier; for lo! the king is 

dead! 



THE GHOST IN ARMOE. 

A LEGEND OF ST, MICHAEL'S EVE. 

PAKT FIRST. 

Sir Walter De Gdyon is surly and 
sad. 
There 's trouble a-brewing, I think ; 
The Steward is certain Sir Walter is 

mad. 
And the Butler declares, " He is took 
very bad, — 
This morning he doubled his drink ! " 

And why is he ranting and raving, I 
pray. 
And calling his daughter such names ? 
He stands by the Green in the sturdiest 

way; 
And Alice has mounted the Orange to- 
day. 
And laughed at the runaway James ! 

And then Sir Walter has heard be- 
side. 
From one of his vigilant spies, 
How Alice his daughter, his darling and 

pride. 
With young De Ruyter, last evening, 
was spied, — 
You may guess at the knight's sur- 
prise ! 

Beneath the casement the maiden was 
seen. 
With this gay gallant at her feet ; 
Holding her hand his own between, 
And calling her " love," and " life," 
and " queen," 
With kisses many and sweet ! 

De Ruyter, — a captain of William's 
band ; 
And counted a worthy scion 
Of an ancient house in the Dutchman's 

land; 
But what is he to offer his hand 
To one of the race De Guyon 1 

De Ruyter, — "a squire of low de- 
gree," 
And an anti-Jacobite war-man ; 
And what is he, whoever he be, 
To match his de with the mighty De 
That was known before " the Noi-- 
man " ? 



188 



THE GHOST IN ARMOR. 



" The saucy varlet ! " Sir Walter said ; 

" The felJow deserves to swing ; 
Before my castle to show his head ! 
I'll serve the do<r as I 'd like instead 

To serve his villainous king ! " 

In vain the maiden bemoans his fate ; 

Already the fierce Sir Walter 
Has set his guards at every gate. 
He is fain to fly, but all too late ; 

He is doomed to feel the halter. 

There 's a dismal cell, a dungeon, in 
sooth, 

Hard by the banqueting-room 
(Sir Walter de Guy on has little ruth). 
And there, alas! the venturous youth, 

De Kuyter, is waiting his doom. 

Sir Walter de Guyon is rather elate 
At the capital job he has done ; 

So he summons his friends, the small 
and the great, 

To come and assist at an elegant ye<e. 
Devoted to feasting and fun. 



PART SECOND. 



They 



with 



are eating and drinking 
glee. 

The guests at this notable feast ; 
Lords, nobles of ever}' degree, 
All merry as merry can be, 
With fifty retainers at least. 

In the midst of the revelry rose 
Sir Walter de Guyon, to say, 
" You all are aware, I suppose, 
'T is St. Michael's evening, " — but 
shows 
Some symptoms of fainting away. 

A bottle of Burgundy stood 

r5y chance in the orator's reach. 
Which drinking as well as he could. 
And swearing the tipple was good. 
Sir Walter went on with his speech. 

" 'T was this very night, as you know. 
My ancestor, once on a time, 

As sundry old chronicles show 

('Twas ages and ages ago). 
Committed a horrible crime. 

"A black-armored knight, it is told, 
Who slept in a neighboring room, 



Was murdered ('t was thought for his 

gold), — 
The rooui which now happens to hold 
The Dutchman awaiting his doom. 

" My ancestor noised it about, 
The minions of Justice to blind. 

That the stranger arose and went out ; 

But he never could settle the doubt 
Why the man left his armor be- 
hind. 

" Belike you have heard it before, — 

The credulous peasants believe 
His ghost, in the armor he wore, 
Comes stalking abroad, as of yore, 
On every St. Michael his Eve." 

" What think you 1 " he laughingly 
said, 
" Perhaps we may see him to night ; 
As often in books we have read " — 
Ah ! sees he the ghost of the dead ? 
Whv blanches Sir Walter with 
"fright ? 

What meaneth that terrible din. 

Like the sound of a bursting door? 
See ! black as the angel of sin, 
The Ghost in the Armor comes in, 
And marches across the floor ! 

Aghast at the horrible sight, 

Down, down they tumi)le, and lay 
Spent with terror and fright, 
Through all that terrible night. 
Quite into the following day! 

Now where is De Rnyter, I pray. 

And Alice 1 (she 's vanished from 
sight!) 

There 's a letter from London to say 

The lovers had ridden away 

On a saddle and pillion that night. 

His manner of leaving, of course, 

His own reprobation had earned ; 
He owned he was full of remorse 
Concerning the armor and horse, 
But both should be quickly returned. 

And with her good father's consent, 
That is, should he kindly invite 
her, 

It was Alice's settled intent 

To make him a visit in Lent, 
Along with her own De Ruyter ! 



1 



THE KING AND THE PEASANT. 



189 



THE KING AND THE PEASANT. 

A SICILIAN TALE. 

Theee lived a man who, from his 

youth. 
Was kuown to all as " Peasant Truth," 
Because 't was said he 'd sooner die 
Than tell or hint the smallest lie. 
Now, when it happened that the King 
Had heard, at last, this wondrous 

thing, 
He bade tiie peasant come and keep 
The royal flock of goats and sheep 
(To wit, — one goat, a little lamb 
A fine bell-wether, and a ram). 
And once a week he went to court 
To see the King, and make report 
How fared the flock, and truly tell 
If each were doing ill or well ; 
Whereat the King was well content, 
And home the happy peasant went. 
At last, a wicked courtier — struck 
With envy at his neighbor's luck — 
Essayed to put him in disgrace, 
And gain himself the peasant's place. 
" Think you, good Sire, in very sooth. 
He never lies, — this Peasant Truth 1 
He '11 lie next Saturday," he said, 
" Or, for a forfeit, take my head ! " 
" So be it ! and I '11 lose my own," 
The King replied, " if it be shown, 
With all the arts that you may try. 
That Peasant Truth can tell a lie ! " 
And now the wicked courtier fain 
Some trick woitld try his end to gain. 
But still he failed to find a plan 
To catch at fault the honest man, 
Until at last, in slieer despair. 
He told his wife (a lady fair 
As one in all tiie world could find. 
And cunning, like all womankind) 
About the wager he had made. 
And all the case before her laid. 
" And is that all"? " the woman said, 
Tossing in scorn her handsome head ; 
" Leave all to me, and never doubt 
That what you wish I '11 bring about ! " 
Next day the crafty dame was seen, 
Appareled like a very queen, 
And on her brow a diamond star, 
That like a meteor blazed afar. 
Approaching where the peasant stood 
A mong his ilock. " Now, by the Rood ! " 
He cried, amazed, " but she is fair 
And beautiful beyond compare ! " 
Then, bowing to the earth, quoth he, 



" What may your Highness want wit4i 

me? 
Whate'er you ask, I swear to grant ! " 
" Ah ! " sighed the lady, " much I want 
Some roasted wether, else shall I 
(Such is my longing !) surely die ! " 
" Alas ! " he said, " just this one thing 
I cannot do. I serve the King, 
Who owns the wether that you see, 
And if I kill him, woe is tne ! " 
Alack the day for Peasant Truth ! 
His tender soul was moved to ruth ; 
For, weeping much, and saying still 
That she should die, she had her will. 
And of roast wether took her fill ! 
" Ah ! " sighed the man when she was 

gone, 
" Alas ! the deed that I have done ! 
To kill the sheep ! What shall I say 
When I am asked, next Saturday, 
' How fares the wether ? ' I will tell 
His Majesty the sheep is well. 
No, that won't do ! I '11 even say 
A thief has stolen him away. 
No, that won't answer. I will feign 
Some prowling wolf the sheep has 

slain. 
No, that won't do ! Ah ! how can I 
Look in his face and tell a lie 1 " 
Now when the peasant came to court 
On Saturday, to make report, 
As was his wont, the King began 
His questioning ; and thus it ran : 
" How is my goat ? I prithee tell ! " 
" The goat, your Majesty, is well ! " 
" And how 's my ram "? " " Good Sire, 

the ram 
Is well and frisky." " How 's my 

lamb '2 " 
" He 's well and beautiful, in sooth." 
"And how 's my wether, Peasant 

Truth ■? " 
Whereat he answered, " my King, 
I hate a lie like — anything. 
When on the mountain-side afar 
I saw the bidy with the star, 
My soul was dazzled with her beauty, 
And I forgot my loyal duty, 
And when she asked for wether's meat, 
I killed the sheep, that she might eat." 
" Good ! " said the King, "my wager 's 

won ! 
This grievous wrong that you have 

done, 
My truthful peasant, I forgive ; 
In health and wealth long may you live I 
While this, your enemy, instead, 
Shall justly lose his foolish head." 



190 



THE KING'S FAVORITE. 



THE TRAVELEE AND HIS 
FRIENDS. 

A GALLIC LEGEND. 

A GENTLEMAN, about to make 
A trip at sea, was begged to take 
Commissions for a dozen friends : 
One wants a watch; another sends 
For wine, — "a very special cask ; 
And — if it 's not too much to ask — 
Some choice cigars ; a box will do ; 
Or, Avhile you 're at it, purchase two." 
Another friend would like a pair 
Of boots, — " They 're so much cheaper 

there " ; 
A lady friend would have him buy 
Some laces, — "If they're not too 

high"; 
Another wants a box of gloves, — 
" French kids, you know, are real 

loves ! " 
Thus one wants this ; another, that ; 
A book, a bonnet, or a hat ; 
Enough to make the moody man 
(So high their " small commissions " ran 
In tale and bulk) repent that he 
Had ever thought to cross the sea ! 
Moreover, — be it here remarked, — 
Before the gentleman embarked, 
His friends, for fear he might forget 
Their little errands, plainly set 
Their wishes down in black and white ; 
A sensible proceeding — quite ; 
But, as it happened, not a friend 
(With one exception) thought to send 
The ready money, and to say, 
" See, here 's the cash you '11 have to 

pay." _ 

The man embarks; sees Pans, 

Rome, 
And other cities ; then comes home 
Well pleased with much that met his 

eye; 
But, having, somehow, failed to buy 
A single thing for any friend, 
Except the one who thought to send 
The wherewithal. Well, need I say 
That soon his neighbors came to pay 
Their greetings at his safe return. 
And charming health; and (also) learn 
About their little errands, — what 
For each the traveler had got 1 
" By Jove ! " he said, " it makes me sad 
To think what Avretched luck I had ! 
For as .i>t sea I sat one day 
Arranging in a proper way 



The papers you so kindly sent, 
A gale arose, and off they went 
Into the ocean ; nor could I 
Remember aught you bade me buy." 
" But," grumbled one, " if that were 
so, 
How comes it, sir, you chanced to know 
What this man's errand was 1 for he 
Has got what he desired, we see." 
" Faith ! so he has, — beyond a doubt j 
And this is how it came about : 
His memorandum chanced to hold 
A certain sum of solid gold ; 
And thus the paper by its weight 
Escaped the others' windy fate." 



THE KING'S FAVORITE. 

AN ORIENTAL TALE. 

A SHEPHERD who was wont to keep 
With so much care his flock of sheep, 
That not a man in all the plains 
Could show the like in fleecy gains, 
Was noticed by the king ; who said, 
" One who so long has wisely led 
His woolly charge must surely be 
A proper man to oversee 
A nobler flock; I make thee, then, 
A magistrate, — to govern men ! " 
" What," mused the shepherd, " shall I 

do? 
A hermit and a wolf or two 
My whole acquaintance constitute 
(Except my sheep) of man or brute ! 
His reason bade the clown decide 
Against the place ; not so his pride. 
Ambition's plea at last prevails. 
And lo ! the shepherd takes the scales. 

Soon as his hermit-neighbor heard 
What to the shepherd had occurred, 
His honest mind he thus expressed : 
" 'T is surely but a royal jest, 
To make of thee, who never saw 
A written page of statute law. 
Chief Justice of the realm ! I deem 
The tale is false, or do I dream ? 
Ah ! princely gifts are fatal things ; 
Beware, I say, — beware of kings ! " 

The shepherd listens, but the while 
His only answer is a smile. 
As one whose happiness provokes 
The envy of inferior folks. 
" Alas ! " the hermit cried, " I see 
The fabled wagoner in thee. 
Who lost his whip, and by mistake 



THE MERCHANT. 



191 



Took up instead a torpid snake, 
That, warming in his fingers, stung 
The foolish hand to which it clung, 
A mortal bite ; do thou, my friend. 
Beware the like unhappy end ! " 
And soon indeed the favorite found 
The hermit's plain advice was sound. 
The Judge, although he did his best, 
Was most unequal to the test ; 
His judgments, set in legal light, 
Were quite as often wrong as right ; 
And, worst of all, around him rose 
A crowd of envious, spiteful foes, 
Who, one and all, contrive to bring 
The blackest slanders to the King, 
Who hears, amazed, the story told 
Of justice daily bought and sold. 
Indeed, his enemies declare, 
" His Honor " takes the lion's share. 
And with the fruit of bribes alone 
Has built a palace of his own. 

The King, astounded at his guilt, 
Would see the palace he had built ; 
And finds, when all his search is done, 
A modest house of wood and stone. 
He opens ne.Kt the fabled box 
Where, fast beneath a dozen locks, 
The Judge's famous jewels lie ; 
But nothing meets the royal eye 
Except a shepherd's coat and cap 
(The former rent in many a gap), 
And — to reward his further l(3o.k — 
A shepherd's rusty pipe and crook. 
" treasure precious to my eyes ! " 
The Judge exclaims, " from thee arise 
No hateful cares, nor envious lies. 
These I resume, and learn, though late, 
Whoe'er aspires to serve the state 
Should iirst consider well the case, 
If he is equal to the place ; 
And long reflect, before he makes 
That most egregious of-mistakes, — 
One's true vocation weakly spurned, 
To serve a trade he never learned." 



THE MERCHANT. 



A MERCHANT oucc, whom Fortune plied 
With favors rare on every side. 
Grew rich apace ; his ships were safe 
Though storms might rave and breakers 

chafe ; 
To every clime his bending sails 
Were wafted by propitious gales ; 



While others, gooa and brave as he. 
And no less wise on land or sea. 
With varying fortunes often tried 
The fierce domain of wind and tide. 
And paid, sometimes, a goodly freight 
In tribute to the Ocean- Fate. 
No hidden reef, nor sudden squall, 
Nor deadly calm, most feared of all. 
Had e'er consigned his vessels' store 
To coral grove or rocky shore. 
And more than this (so, it is known. 
Fate, when she will, can guard her 

own). 
No agent proved an arrant knave, 
No master found a watery grave, 
No trusted clerk defaulter turned. 
No partner stole what both had earned. 
Nor market of a sudden fell 
Just when his factor wished to sell. 

In short, his wines, tobaccos, teas. 
Silks, satins, linens, laces, cheese. 
His coffee, sugar, raisins, spice. 
Were sure to bring the highest price : 
And so it was he came to be 
The richest merchant on the sea. 
And lived — there 's little need to say — 
In such a princely sort of way 
The King himself could scarce afibrd 
The gems that decked our merchant- 
lord. 

A friendly neighbor, much amazed 
At all the wealth on which he gazed, 
Said, " Tell me, now, how may it be 
That you have come to what we see 1 " 
The merchant, smilling, swelled with 

pride. 
And, like a monarch, thus replied : 
"How comes it? — plain enough, I 

trow ; 
It comes, my friend, of knowing how ! " 

With growing riches now, indeed, 

The trader felt a growing greed, 

And giddy with prosperity. 

Stakes all he has again at sea. 

But now success no longer paid 

The heedless risks the merchant made. 

One bark was wrecked because her 

load. 
For want of care, was ill bestowed ; 
Another (lacking arms, they say) 
To ruthless pirates fell a prey ; 
A third came safe, at last, to laud 
With goods no longer in demand ; 
In brief, his ventures proved so bad 
He soon was stript of all he had, 



192 



THE TWO WALLETS. 



And now among his fellow-men, 
Was but a common man again. 

Once more his friend inquiry made 

Whence came disaster to his ti-ade. 

" What brought you to this dismal 
pass 1 " 

" 'T was Fortune," said the man, 
" alas ! " 

" Indeed 1 Well, well," the friend re- 
plies, 

" Although her gold the Dame denies, 

She yet may teach you to be wise ! " 

So goes the world ! each thankless elf, 
Whate'er may be his worldly state. 

Imputes his blessings to himself, 
And lays his blunders all to Fate. 



THE FOECE OF EXAMPLE. 



A MOTHER lobster, with her daughter 
Conversing near their native water. 
And closely watching, as she talked. 
The style in which the latter walked, 
Eebuked her for her awkward way 
Of locomotion : " Tell me, pray," 
The matron scolded, " why instead 
Of backward, you don't go ahead ? 
Such awkwardness ! Of course you 

know 
'T is not the proper way to go ; 
Sure, folks of sense you thus will shock. 
And make yourself a laughing-stock ! " 
" What ! " said the child, " do you sup- 



I don't know how my mother goes ? 

Shall I adopt the plan you say, 

While all the rest go t' other way ? 

I really have n't got the face 

To change the custom of my race ; 

It need not put you in a passion, 

I merely mean to be in fashion ; 

And, having learned the way from 

you, 
I '11 walk — as other lobsters do." 



To fix a good or evil course. 
Example is of potent force ; 
And they who wish the young to teach 
Must even practice what they preach. 



THE SHERIFF OF SAUMUR. 

A LEGEND. 

Once, when the King was traveling 

through 
His realm, as kings were wont to do 
In ancient times when royalty 
Was deemed a goodly sight to see, 
It chanced the Sheriff of Saumur, 
A city in the royal tour, 
Was chosen by the magistrates 
To meet the monarch at the gates. 
And in a handsome speech declare 
How glad and proud the people were 
To see his Majesty ; and say 
Such compliments as subjects pay, 
As being but the proper thing, 
On such occasions, to the King. 
" Sire," said the Sheriff (so the speech 
Began, of course), " Sire, we beseech 
Your gracious Majesty to hear 
The humble words of hearty cheer 
With which, great Sire, with which, 

through me. 
The people greet your Majesty. 
We are so glad to see you, Sire, 
That — that " — And here the speech 

hung fire. 
" So glad — the people of our town — 
That — that " — And here the man 

broke down. 
Whereat a courtier said, " I 'm sure 
These worthy people of Saumur 
Are glad, my liege, to see you here ; 
That seems to me extremely clear ; 
And don't his Honor's speech confess 

it? 
So glad, indeed, they can't express it." 



THE TWO WALLETS. 

Why humankind should ever be 
So keen their neighbors' faults to see, 
While (wonderful to tell!) their own 
Are to themselves almost unknown, 
This ancient fable clearly shows : 
Once on a time, the story goes, 
Great Jove, the wise Olympian King, 
Proclaimed to each created thing, 
That he would hold a special court 
Where all might come and make re- 
port 
Of aught that each might deem it wise 
To change iu feature, form, or size. 



THE GREAT CRAB. 



193 



He promised quickly to redress 
All imperfections, large or less ; 
Whatever error or defect 
Each in his person might detect. 
First came the Monkey. Naught had he 
Of special fault — that he could see ! 
A paragon of wit and grace, 
Who had — almost — a human face ! 
One seeks a finer form in vain, 
Pray, why should such as he complain 1 
" But look at Bruin ! " cried the ape ; 
" Was ever such a clumsy shape "? 
And then, for life, condemned to wear 
That ugly suit of shaggy hair ! " 
" Nay," said the bear, " I find my form 
As I could wish. My fur is warm. 
And looks, I think, extremely fine, 
Good Master Ape, compared with thine. 
But see the Elephant ! his size 
Is much too huge ; and I advise 
(So ludicrous the beast appears) 
To stretch his tail, and crop his ears ! " 
" Nay," quoth the Elephant, who deems 
His figure clear of all extremes, 
" I can't complain, — I 'm quite con- 
tent ! " 
But then he marveled what it meant 
The Whale should be so huge and fat ! 
The Ant was sorry for the Gnat ! 
The Gnat reproached the tiny Flea ! 
How could one live so small as she 1 
Thus all the animals, in turn, 
The faults of others could discern ; 
But not a creature, large or small, 
His own defects could see at all. 



So fares it with the human race, 

Who, thanks to Heaven's especial grace, 

A double wallet always wear, 

All sorts of sins and crimes to bear. 

Within the pouch that hangs before 

The faults of other folks are thrown ; 
While, safely out of siglit, we store 

The hinder pocket with our own. 



THE GREAT CRAB. 



A GERMAN LEGEND. 



Near Lake Mohrin 't is said, by day 

and night, 
The folks all tremble with unceasing 

fright 

13 



Lest the Great Crab, we all have heard 

about. 
By some device should manage to get 
out ! 
He 's fastened down below, you see, 

And in the strongest way ; 
For, should he happen to get free. 
The deuce would be to pay ! 



An ugly monster of prodigious strength, 
A mile in breadth and twenty miles in 

length. 
He keeps the water foaming in the 

lake. 
And, once on land, what trouble he 
would make ! 
For with his backward motion (so 

An ancient seer declares) 
All other things would backward 
go, 
Throughout the world's affairs. 



The Burgomaster — mightiest of men — 
Would turn, that day, a sucking child 

again ; 
The Judge and Parson, changed to 

little boys. 
Would quit their learned books for tiny 
toys; 
And so with matrons, maids, and 
men. 
All things would be reversed; 
And everything go back again 
To what it was at first. 



Such mischief to the people ! While 

they eat, 
Back to the plate will go the smoking 

meat. 
And thence to pot ! The bread will turn 

again 
To flour; flour go back once more to 
grain. 
Back to the flax (0 sight of shame !) 

Will go the linen shirt ; 
The flax return to whence it came, 
A linseed in the dirt. 



The timber in the house at once will 

move 
As trees again back to the primal grove ; 
The hens will turn to chickens, in a 

crack. 
The chicks into the eggs again go back, 



194 



LOVE OMNIPOTENT. 



And these the Great Crab with his 
tail, 

At one prodigious crash, 
Will knock, as with a threshing-flail, 

To everlasting smash ! 



Now Heaven defend us from so dire a 

fate! 
The world, I think, is doing well of late ; 
And for the Crab, let all good people 

pray 
That m his lake he evermore may stay ! 
Else even this poor song (alack ! 

How very sad to think !) 
With all the rest must needs go back, 
And be a drop of ink ! 



LOVE AND FOLLY. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

Cupid, we know, is painted blind ; 
The reason it were hard to find, 
Unless, indeed, we may suppose 
The fable of Lafontaine shows. 
Beyond a reasonable doubt, 
How the misfortune came about. 

'T is said that on a certain day, 
As Love and Folly were at play. 
They fell into a warm debate 
Upon a point of little weight, 
Until, so high the quarrel rose, 
From angry words they came to blows. 
Love, little used to warlike arts 
(Save with his famous bow and darts). 
Although he fought with all his might. 
Was quickly vanquished in the fight ; 
Miss Folly dealt him such a slap 
Across the. face, the little chap 
Fell in a swoon, and woke to find 
Pie could not see ! — the boy was blind ! 

Now when his doting mother came 
To know the case, the angry dame 
Behaved as any mother might 
Whose only son had lost his sight. 
Whate'er had caused the dreadful deed, 
Malicious aim, or want of heed. 
Such wrath in heaven was seldom 

seen 
As Venus showed in speech and mien. 
She stunned Olympus with her cries 
For vengeance. " What ! put out his 

eyes ! 
My precious Cupid! Let the jade 
Straight down to Orcus be conveyed ! 



That justice may be duly done 
On her who maimed my darling son. 
And left the lad, bereaved of sight, 
To grope in everlasting night ! " 

While Venus thus for vengeance 
prayed 
On Folly, — thoughtless, hapless maid, — 
Great Jove convenes a special court 
To hear the case and make report. 
In solemn council long they sit 
To judge what penalty is fit 
The crime to answer ; and, beside 
Some restitution to provide 
(If aught, indeed, they can devise) 
For Master Cupid's ruined eyes. 

And thus, at last, it was decreed, 
That Folly, for her wicked deed. 
In part the damage should restore 
By leading Cupid evermore ! 



And so it comes that still we see 
The maid where'er the boy may be ; 
Love still is blind ; and Folly still 
Directs the urchin where she will. 



LOVE OMNIPOTENT. 

A DIALOGUE OF THE GODS. 

ACT I. Scene: Hades. 

Pluto, Meeoury. 

Pluto. My Furies all are getting 
old, and fill 

Their office, I protest, extremely ill ; 

Go, Mercury, to Earth, and gather 
there 

A score or so; there's plenty and to 
spare, 

I warrant me, among the womankind. 

By use and disposition well designed 

For Fury-service of the active sort. 

Examine well, and bring me due re- 
port. 
Mercury. I 'm off at once ! I fan- 
cy I can find 

Fifty, at least, exactly to your mind ; 

Sharp-tongued, sour-visaged, malice-lov- 
ing ladies 

Whom others than yourself have wished 
in Hades ! 

[Exit Mercury. 



THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE RUSTIC. 



195 



ACT II. Scene : Olympus : Juno's boudoir. 
Juno, Iris. 

Juno. I 'm much annoyed, good Iris, 

with the airs 
Of vaunting Venus, — as if all affairs 
In heaven and earth were under her 

control ! 
I hear she boasts that scarce a human 

soul 
Is free from her authority ; that all 
The people in the world are fain to fall 
Upon their knees at her command, and 

own 
No equal goddess on the Olympian 

throne. 
Iris. Is 't possible 1 
Juno. Yes, Iris, worse than that. 
She and her boy, (a mischief-breeding 

brat!) 
Who aids his mother by his wicked art, 
Declare (0 shame !) there 's not a female 

heart 
In all the universe — below, above — 
Which has not felt the subtle force of 

love ! 
An arrant falsehood, spoken just to vex 
The Queen of Heaven, and scandalize 

the sex. 
Among the earthly maidens, therefore, 

go, 
And bring me back some evidence to 

show 
That Cytherea says — what is n't so ! 
Iris. I fly ! and never for a moment 

doubt 
I '11 bring you proofs to wipe the slan- 
der out. 

[Exit Iris. 

ACT III. Scene . same as hefore. Juno read- 
ing. 

(Enter Iris.) 

Iris. O gracious Queen, I've had a 

precious time ! 
Well, I yiiust say, if love is such a crime 
As well I know it is, (the more 's the 

pity!) 
There 's not a place on earth — hamlet 

or city — 
That is n't full of it ! In actual life 
'T is the chief topic ; fiction, too, is rife 
With endless talk about it. Ou the 

stage. 
In poems, songs, 't is everywhere the 

rage. 



Love, love, was still the theme where'er 

I went. 
In court, cot, castle, and the warrior's 

tent. 
Love-knots, love-plots, love-murders ! — 

such a rush 
For love-romances in the papers — 

Juno. Hush ! 

Do stop your prattle, Iris, and confess 

You found some souls as yet untainted — • 

Iris. Yes ! 

That is, I heard of three, — three virgin 

breasts 
That never once had throbbed at Love's 

behests. 
Juno. Of course you brought them 

with you. Three will prove 
All are not vassals to the Queen of 

Love! 
Iris. Well — no — unluckily, the 

day before 
A royal messenger from Pluto's shore 
Took them away to grace his grimy 

court. 
His stock of Furies being something 

short. 

[Juno /ofnZs, and curtain falls. 



THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE 
KUSTIC. 

A MORAL HOMILT. 

A GRAVE philosopher, whose name 

To Scythia gave resplendent fame. 

Intent his knowledge to increase, 

A journey took through classic Greece, 

Where, to his profit and delight. 

He saw full many a novel sight, 

Towers, temples, people, — and much 

more. 
As brave Ulysses did of yore ; 
But chiefly he was struck to see 
A simple man, of low degree. 
Untaught in philosophic page, 
But in his life a very sage. 
His farm, a little patch of land, 
He tilled with such a clever hand, 
It yielded all he cared to spend. 
And something more to treat a friend. 

Approaching wheft-e the rustic now 
Was clipping at an apple-bou<ih, 
The Scythian gave a wondering look, 
To see him wield his pruning-hook, 
Here lopping off a withered limb. 
There reaching high a branch to trim, 



196 



THE GARDENER AND THE KING. 



Correcting nature everywhere, 

But always with judicious care. 

" Sir," said tlie Tourist, " tell me why 

This wanton waste that meets my eye ? 

Your husbandry seems rather rough ; 

Time's scythe will cut them soon 

enough." 
" Nay," said the Sage, "I only dress 
My apple-trees, and curb (xcess ; 
Enhancing thus, as seems but wise, 
My fruit in sweetness, tale, and size." 
Returning home the Scythian took 
Without delay his pruning-hook, 
On all his trees the knife he tried, 
And cut and carved on every side. 
Nor from his murderous work refrained 
Till naught but barren stumps re- 
mained. 



This Scythian sage resembles those 
Who deem their passions are their 

foes ; 
And who, instead of pruning where 
Excess requires the owner's care, 
Cut down the tree that God has made 
With fierce Repression's cruel blade ; 
And thus, for future life, destroy 
All precious fruit of human joy. 



THE GARDENER AND THE 
KING. 

FEOM THE GERMAN. 

Once on a time, at Erivan, 

Tliere dwelt a poor but honest man 

Who kept a little garden, where 

Thi^re grew much fruit, so fine and fair. 

So large and juicy, ripe and sound, 

'T was known for many leagues around. 

One day a neighbor, looking o'er 

The autumn's wealth, a goodly store, 

Advised the owner thus : " Good man, 

Take some of these to Ispahan ; 

'T will please the King, who, I am told, 

Cares more for luxury than gold ; 

And so your fortune you '11 increase 

By many a shining golden piece." 

" Faith ! so I will ! " the man replies. 

Then to the market-place he hies ; 

The finest basket he can find 

He buys, then stores it to his mind 

With choicest fruit of every sort. 

And off he starts for king and court. 



Arrived, the Marshal asks his name, 
And, learning whence and why he came, 
He bade him enter. That 's the way- 
It was in Persia, — and to-day 
In every land, except our own, 
The same partiality is shown; 
The giver finds an open gate, 
While he who seeks may stand and 

wait ! 
The King, delighted with the fruit, 
Returned his thanks, — and would it 

suit 
The worthy man to bring some more ? 
Ah, that it would ! Was e'er before 
A man so lucky 1 Now, the while 
He waits to catch the royal smile, 
And get his pay, he stares at all 
So new and strange — the lofty hall. 
And people there ; among the rest, 
To put his manners to the test. 
An ugly little dwarf he spies, 
A hunchback of such paltry size 
The gardener laughed aloud. Alack . 
" The fellow with the crooked back 
And bandy legs ! — who could have 

known 
That he in rank was next the throne 1 
Though small in size, in honor great, 
In fact, Prime Minister of State ! " 
His Honor scowled and looked around, 
And on the stranger grimly frowned. 
Enough ! the guard, who understand 
The hint, now take the chap in hand. 
And, quicker than you read the tale. 
The gardener finds himself in jail ! 

Here, quite forgotten, he remained. 
Of light and liberty restrained, 
Eor twelve long months ; and might, no 

doubt. 
Have been still longer getting out, 
Had not the king, grown haid to suit, 
Made mention of the finer fruit 
The stranger brought a year ago, 
And thus his Majesty would know 
What it might mean, and why the man 
Had come no more to Ispahan ? 
Now, when the truth was brought to 

light. 
The King — who laughed with all his 

might 
To hear about the strange mishap — 
Said, " Go, my men ! and bring the 

chap ; 
'T is fit I make him some amends." 
Forth comes the gardener, and at- 
tends 
Upon the King, who sa3'S, " I 've heard 
The story, fellow, every word. 



THE OLD GENERAL AND HIS KING. 



197 



And fain some recompense would 

make ; 
Indeed, it was a grave mistake, 
Althoiiy;h it makes me laugh to split 
My sides — ha ! ha ! — to think of it ! 
Now, name your wish, — an easy 

task, — 
And I will grant whate'er you ask." 
" Then grant me this," replied the 

man, 
" An axe, some salt, an Alkoran. 
Well, that will do ; of all your store 
Those will suffice, — I ask no more." 
" Strange things to ask ! " exclaimed 

the King, 
" Now tell the meaning of this thing." 
" The axe I want to fell the tree 
That bore the fruit I gave to thee ; 
The salt, upon the earth to sow. 
That uoue thereon again may grow ; 
The Alkoran, that I may swear, 
While I enjoy God's blessed air, 
That I will never darken more 
(With my consent) a palace door ! " 



THE VISION OF THE FAITHFUL. 

Upon the faithful in the common 
things 
Enjoined of Duty, rarest blessings 
wait. 
A pious Nun (an ancient volume 
brings 
The legend and the lesson), while she 
sate 
Reading some scriptures of the Sacred 
Word, 
And marveling much at Christ's ex- 
ceeding grace, 
Saw in her room a Vision of the 
Lord, 
With sudden splendor filling all the 
place ! 
Whereat she knelt, enraptured ; when 
a bell 
Signaled her hour to feed the con- 
vent's poor ; 
Which humble duty done, she sought 
her cell, 
And lo ! the Vision, brighter than 
before. 
Who, smiling, spake : " Even so is 
heaven obtained ; 
I — hadst thou lingered here — had 
not remained ! " 



THE FAIRY'S GIFTS. 

In a far-away country, some centuries 
since 
(If the story is false, it is certainly 
pleasant). 
Two fairies attended the birth of a 
Prince, 
And, after their custom, each brought 
him a present. 

" I bring him," one whispered, " the 
eagle's bright vision. 
So keen and wide i-eaching that even 
a fly 
The monarch may mark with the sharp- 
est precision, 
However remote, at a glance of his 
eye." 

" An excellent gift for a sovereign, no 
doubt," 
The other responds, " is a good pair 
of eyes : 
But an eagle would scorn to be peering 
about. 
With intent to remark the behavior 
of flies ! 

"And so to your present I beg to unite 
A gift of my choosing, — well suited 
to kings, 
And others no less ; to the eagle's keen 
sight 
I add his contempt for all trivial 
things ! " 

" In sooth," said the first, " I confess 
that I think 
Your cautious restriction exceedingly 
wise ; 
How often it happens that merely to 
wink 
Is the properest use we can make of 
our eyes ! " 



THE OLD GENERAL AND HIS 
KING. 

" All men think all men mortal but 
Themselves ! " says Young. The case 

is put 
Extremely strong, and yet, in sooth. 
The statement scarce exceeds the truth. 
That is to say, excepting those 
So very ill they can't suppose 



198 



THE SPELL OF CIRCE. 



They 've long to live, there 's scarcely 

one 
But deems his earthly course will run 
(Despite some transient doubts and 

fears) 
Beyond his friend's of equal years. 
In proof how far such dreams prevail, 
Pray mark this old historic tale. 
A General, whose lengthened term 
Of life had found him quite infirm, 
Was questioned by his Majesty 
(Older, by several years, than he) 
About his place of burial. " Where," 
The King inquired with friendly care, 
" Pray tell me, would it please you 

best 
Your brave old honored bones should 

rest ■? " 
" Ah ! " said the Soldier, " seldom I 
Have thought of death ; but when I 

die, 
I *d have my grave not quite alone, 
But near to where they 've placed your 

own ! " 



SAINT VERENA AND SATAN. 

A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 

Below Mount Jura lies a vale 

Extremely dark and deep and wide. 

Where once, if we may trust the tale, 
Good Saint Verena lived and died. 

A pious damsel, sooth, was she, 
Who made her lowly life sublime 

With works of grace and charity ; 
The marvel of her age and clime. 

To heal the sick, and teach the young. 
And lead the weak in Virtue's ways, 

Her daily life, — and every tongue 
In all the valley sang her praise. 

Save one, — of course the " Evil One," — 
Who, being evermore at strife 

With pious folks, left naught undone 
To end good Saint Verena's life. 

Sometimes he turned, the legends say, 
A mountain torrent in her path ; | 

In vain ! dry-shod she held her way. 
Unhurt, despite the Devil's wrath ! 

And once a murderer, in the night, 
The fiend employed to take her life ; 



In vain ! for when his lantern light 
Revealed her face, he dropped his 
knife. 

And so it fell, the Devil's skill 

No harm to Saint Verena brought ; 

He failed to work his wicked will, 
And all his malice came to naught. 

Enraged, at last he seized a stone, 
Intent at once to crush her dead, 

(A rock that weighed at least a ton !) 
And held it poised above her head. 

Whereat she turned, and at the sight 
(Such angel-beauty filled her face) 

Poor Satan shuddered with affright. 
And fain had fled the holy place ! 

And in his fear he trembled so 
He dropped the stone, — down — 
down it goes ! 

To fall on Saint Verena ? — No ! 
It falls instead on Satan's toes ! 

And since that day he limps about, 
Unable more to leap or run ; 

And, that the story none may doubt, 
You still may see the very stone ; 

With five deep marks on either side, 
Which — so the pious peasant hints, 

Though wicked skeptics may deride — 
Are clearly Satan's finger-prints. 



THE SPELL OF CIRCE. 

A CLASSIC FABLE. 

When all his comrades drank the mag- 
ic bowl 

Of crafty Circe, changing form and 
soul 

Of men to brutes, — wolves, lions, 
bears, and swine, 

Ulysses only, full of strength divine, 

And matchless wisdom, 'scaped the si- 
ren's snare ; 

Refused the tempting cup, and (triumph 
rare !) 

Returned another mixed with so much 
skill 

It charmed the charmer to the hero's 
will, 

Till now she promised to restore his 
men 



THE TWO GRAVES. 



199 



From beastly shapes to human foi-ms 
again, 

If so they willed: "Pray, let them 
freely choose," 

The siren said ; " but what if they re- 
fuse 1 " 

Straight to the brutes their ancient 
leader ran. 

And thus, with joy, his eager tongue 
began : 

"My presence here your quick release 
secures ; 

Speak but the word, — for speech again 
is yours." 

The lion answered first : " What, 1 ■? a 
king ! 

To change my state for such a paltry 
thing 

As a mere cit or sailor ? Let me be ! 

I 'm alwaj^s armed, for I have daws, you 
see! 

As monarch of the forest now I range ; 

Thanks for your kindness, — but I 
would not change." 

Ulysses next approached the shaggy 
bear : 

" Alas ! how ill your form and face com- 
pare 

With those, my friend, that you were 
wont to show 

To courtly dames a little while ago ! " 

" Indeed," the bear replied, " my pres- 
ent form 

Is one I find extremely nice and warm ; 

And as to features, sir, the ursine race 

Have their own notions of a pretty face. 

I well remember what I used to be, — 

A shivering sailor on the stormy sea; 

And, faith ! old man, I tell you plump 
and square. 

Compared with such, I'd rather be a 
bear ! " 

Next to the wolf the anxious hero came, 

And begged the brute to change his ugly 
name 

And office : " What ! destroy the shep- 
herd's flocks ? 

Sure, such a life a noble nature shocks; 

Quit now, my old companion, while you 
can, 

Your thieving trade, and be an honest 
man ! " 

"An honest mani" he howled, "nay, 
who d' ye mean ? 

Faith ! that 's a man that I have never 
seen ! 

And as to eating sheep, — pray tell me 
when 



They ceased to be the prey and food of 

men ? 
Savage 'i you say ; why, men slay men, 

we find ; 
Wolves, at the worst, are wont to spare 

their kind ! " 
The hog came next. Change back ? 

Not he ! to tell 
The honest truth, he liked his ease too 

well; 
" Where will you find," grunts out the 

filthy swine, 
" A life so blest with luxury as mine 1 
To eat and drink and sleep, — grow 

plump and fat, — 
What more, I ask, can mortal wish than 

that ■? " 
So answered all the rest, the small and 

great. 
Each quite contented with his beastly 

state ; 
Each spurning manhood and its joys to 

boot, 
To be a lawless, lazy, sensual brute. 



THE TWO GKAVES. 

A GEEMAN LEGEND. 

A MAN who long had tried in vain 
The doctor's skill to ease the pain 
That racked his limbs, until his gout 
Scarce suffered him to crawl about. 
Though much inclining to despair. 
Gave ear to all who spoke him fair. 
And told of means that might insure 
The end he sought, — relief or cure. 

Among a crowd of such, there came. 
To proffer help, an ancient dame. 
Who, having heard with solemn face 
The nature of the patient's case. 
Advised him thus : " At early light. 
While yet the grass is damp with night, 
Go sit upon a good man's grave. 
And in the dews upon it lave 
Your aching limbs; repeat it thrice; 
My word, 't will cure you in a trice. 

Next morning at the dawn of day 
The cripple takes his weary way 
Unto the churchyard ; where, upon 
A monument of polished stone. 
He reads with joy : " Mere lies a man 
Whose living virtues far outran 
All words of praise, — a model he 
Of Justice, Goodness, Charity." 



200 THE FARMER WHO MADE HIS OWN WEATHER. 



Enouo^h ! the patient takes his seat 
And in the moisture bathes his feet 
And aching joints ; but, sooth to say, 
It did not drive his gout away, 
Though thrice repeated ; nay, he swore 
The pain was greater than before. 

What next ? Near by, a hillock lies 
Of grass-grown earth ; and so he tries 
The dame's prescription once again ; 
And lo ! swift flies the patient's pain ; 
He drops his staff, and, strange to tell. 
His gout is gone, — the man is well ! 
With grateful heart and beaming face 
He turns the sleeper's name to trace ; 
But no ; a slab is there alone, 
With not a word upon the stone. 



KING PYRRHUS AND HIS COUN- 
SELOR. 

• AN APOLOGUE FEOM BOILEAU. 

Quoth Cyneas, counselor and friend 
To royal Pyrrhus, " To what end, 
Tell me, mightiest of kings, 
Are all these ships and warlike things ? " 
" To conquer Rome ! — a pretty prize. 
And worth the cost," the King replies ; 
" She '11 prove, I think, a valiant foe ; 
So, if you please, to Rome we go." 
" Well, — Rome reduced, my royal 

friend, 
What conquest next do you intend ? " 
" The rest of Italy will do 
To keep our arms from rusting." 

" True. 
And then, of course there 's something 

more ? " 
" Well, — Sicily, a neighboring shore. 
Is worth the having." " Very well, — 
What next ? " " That is n't hard to 

tell; 
Of such a navy what 's the use 
Unless we sail to Syracuse ? " 
" 'T is well, — and, having at com- 
mand 
All these, whv, then you '11 stay your 

hand?"" 
" No. Syracuse obtained, we '11 make 
A trip to Carthage ; then we '11 take " — 
" Your scheme is vast, I must confess. 
Thus you advance till you possess 
Arabia, Africa, and what 
May lie beyond, — till you have got 
The Indian realm ; nor resting there, 
Extend your broad dominion where 



The hardy Scythian dwells. And then ? " 
" Why, then we '11 hasten back again, 
And take our ease, and sweetly spend 
Our lives in pleasure to the end." 
So quoth the King. " Ah ! " Cyneas 

said, 
And gravely shook his reverend head, 
" Why go so far and pay so dear 
For pleasures, Sire, that now and here 
We may possess ? How much more 

wise 
To take the good that near us lies, 
To seize the passing joy, unvext 
With anxious care about the next ! " 



THE FARMER WHO MADE HIS 
OWN WEATHER. 

Once on a time, Lafontaine writes, 
Jove, sitting on th' Olympian heights, 
Called nimble Mercury to his side, 
And bade him publish, far and wide, 
" A farm to let ! " Whereat he flies 
Through all the world to advertise 
" The finest farm that can be found 
For fifty thousand miles around ; 
To let — on terms quite sure to please 
Whoe'er may wish to take the lease ! " 

Then came the farmers thick and 
fast 
To see the land, — which far surpassed 
Their brightest hopes ; but in a trice 
All fell to higgling at the price. 
One said the soil was thin and poor ; 
Another, that it lacked manure ; 
And still another man made bold 
To say the land was sour and cold ; 
Each finding fault, with shrewd intent 
To cheapen what he wished to rent. 

At length, when all had said their 
say. 
And some began logo away. 
One, who as yet had held his peace. 
Proposed at once to take the lease, 
Provided Jove would give him power 
O'er cold and heat, o'er sun an(^ 

shower ; 
In brief — to sum it all together — 
The power to regulate the weather ! 
'T is granted ! So, by Jove's command. 
The joyful tenant takes the land. 
He rains or shines, makes cold or warm, 
Brings down the dew, averts the storm ; 
Rules, at his will, the wiad that blows, 
And regulates the winter's snows. 
In short, within the narrow range 



THE TRAVELER AND THE TEMPEST. 



201 



Of his own acres, makes the change 
Of seasons through the varied year. 

Alas ! the gift proves all too dear ! 
For, while the farmer sees with pain 
His neighbors' lands are rich in grain, 
And all that genial Nature yields 
In thrifty herds and fruitful fields. 
His own, despite his anxious toil. 
Proves, at the best, ungrateful soil. 
That brings him naught but discontent, 
Without a sou to pay the rent. 

What could he do ■? — he cannot pay , 
And so the man was fain to pray 
To be forgiven ; with shame confessed 
His folly, — who essayed to test 
The Power divine that rules above, 
And deemed himself more wise than 
Jove. 



THE PROXY SAINT. 

Each for himself must do his Master's 
work, 
Or at his peril leave it all undone ; 
Witness the fate of one who sought to 
shirk 
The sanctuary's service, yet would 
shun 
The penalty. A man of earthly aims 
(So runs the apologue), whose pious 
spouse 
Would oft remind him of the Church's 
claims, 
Still answered thus, " Go thou and 
pay our vows 
For thee and me." Now, when at 
Peter's gate 
The twain together had arrived at 
last. 
He let the woman in ; then to her mate, 
Shutting the door, " Thou hast al- 
ready passed 
By proxy," said the Saint, — "just in 
the way 
That thou on earth wast wont to fast 
and pray." 



THE TWO WISHES. 

AN EGYPTIAN TALE. 

In Babylon, some ages since, 
Death took, one day, the reigning 
Prince ; 



And so, 't is needless to be said, 
The heir-apparent reigned instead. 
(For then as now it was the law, 
" Le roi est mort ! " — so " Vive le roi ! " 
In the same breath the courtiers sing, 
" The King is dead ! " — " Long live the 

King!") 
The son, on looking round to find 
What wealth the sire had left behind, 
With other riches — more indeed 
Then e'en a king could fairly need — 
A secret chest discovered, where 
His sordid sire, with anxious care, 
His golden gains had safely stored. 
Till now it reached a mighty hoard. 
" Great God ! " he cried, " O, may I 

spend 
This ample treasure thou dost lend 
In charity, and may I live 
Till not a coin remains to give ! " 

The Vizier, smiling, said, " Good 

Sire, 
Your noble aim I much admire ; 
But list, your Majesty, I pray. 
To what I heard your father say. 
While gazing on this very chest, 
Then scarce a quarter full, at best : 
' gracious God ! be it thy will,' 
He cried, ' that I may live to fill 
This coffer full ! Grant, I implore. 
This one request, — I ask no more ! ' " 



THE TEAVELER AND THE 
TEMPEST. 

AN ORIENTAL TALE. 

A MERCHANT, — SO the tale is told 
In Eastern fable, quaint and old, — 
Whom urgent business called to roam 
On foot in parts remote from home. 
Was caught, one morning, in a shower 
Of such extremely pelting power. 
The man was fairly drenched with 

rain ; 
And, though no saint, for once was 

fain 
To call on Jove in earnest prayer 
That he, the pluvious god, would spare 
A suffering wretch whose shivering 

form 
Was like to perish in the storm. 
But still, though loud his prayers arise, 
They fail to pierce the murky skies ; 
And added vows prove all in vain 
To stay the fury of the rain. 



202 



PAST, FUTURE, AND PRESENT. 



And now, since Jove no succor lent, 
The traveler growls his discontent 
In impious scoffs at Heaven's decrees. 
" The gods," he muttered, " sit at ease, 
And laugh at us Avho strive to please 
Their vanity with praise and prayer, 
And gifts that we can poorly spare ; 
Meanwhile the very ills they send 
They lack the power — or will — to 

mend !" 
With this, he sought a neighboring 

wood, 
To shun the storm as best he could ; 
When lo ! a robber issuing thence, 
The man, unarmed for self-defense, 
With flying footsteps sought again 
The fury of the open rain, — 
A friendly barrier now, perchance. 
Against the robber's dread advance. 
And so it proved, yet, as he fled, 
The other, pointing at his head 
A well-aimed arrow, would have slain 
The fugitive, had not the rain 
The moistened bowstring so unnerved. 
The dart fell short, and only served 
The more to speed the traveler's flight, 
Till he was safely out of sight. 
Now, when the storm was spent at 
last, 
And all the pain and peril past, 
The traveller, resting for a space 
Where sunshine made a pleasant 

place 
His limbs to warm, his cloak to dry, 
Heard, thundering from the azure sky, 
A solemn voice, whose words proclaim 
The source celestial whence they came : 
"Consider well, mortal man ! 
How wise is Heaven's benignant plan ; 
When skies are black and tempests 

lower, 
Mark not alone the Thunderer's pow- 
er, 
But in his ways, at every turn, 
His kindly providence discern ! " 



PAST, FUTURE, AND PRESENT. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

Once on a time — we need not care 
Too nicely for the when and ichere — 
Three princes, who, since Time had 

birth. 
Have ruled three provinces on earth, 
Whate'er the scope of human aims, 
{Past, Future, Present, were their 

names,) 
Met on a pleasant summer's day, 
And talking in a friendly way 
®f topics such as neighbors use 
For mere companionship, — the news, 
The weather, or mayhap the price 
Of bullion since the last advice 
Touching the royal health, — began 
At length to speculate on Man 
And his affairs ; in brief, on all 
Such subtile themes as, since the Fall, 
Have puzzled moralists ; and then 
From such deep talk concerning men 
As ranged from Providence to Fate, 
They fell at last to sharp debate 
About themselves, as, who might be 
In pow'er the greatest of the three. 
"I," said the Past. " must be the one, 
Since all things great were surely done 
By me, — there 's naught in all the 

land 
But bears the impress of my hand ! " 
" True," said the Future ; " yet reflect, 
Your doings claim but small respect 
Compared with mine, — since all to be 
Henceforward will be ruled by me ! " 
"Nay," said the Present, "cease your 

claims ; 
What are ye both but sounding names? 
All things achieved beneath the sun. 
And all on earth that shall be done. 
Are mine alone ! O'er great and small 
The Present still is king of all ! " 



PROGRESS. 



203 



SATIEES. 



PEOGRESS. 



A SATIRE. 



In this, our happy and " progressive " 
age. 

When all alike ambitious cares engage ; 

When beardless boys to sudden sages 
grow. 

And " Miss" her nurse abandons for a 
beau ; 

When for their dogmas Non-Resistants 
fight. 

When dunces lecture, and when dandies 
write ; 

When matrons, seized with oratorio 
pangs. 

Give happy birth to masculine ha- 
rangues, 

And spinsters, trembling for the na- 
tion's fate. 

Neglect their stockings to pi-eserve the 
state ; 

When critic- wits their brazen lustre shed 

On golden authors whom they never 
read, 

With parrot praise of " Roman grand- 
eur" speak. 

And in bad English eulogize the 
Greek ; — 

When facts like these no reprehension 
bring, 

May not, uncensured, an Attorney sing 1 

In sooth he may ; and though " un- 
born " to climb 

Parnassus' heights, and " build the lofty 
rhyme," 

Though Flaccus fret, and warningly ad- 
vise 

That " middling verses gods and men 
despise," 

Yet will he sing, to Yankee license true. 

In spite of Horace and " Minerva " too ! 

My theme is Progress, — never-tiring 
theme 
Of prosing dullness, and poetic dream ; 
Beloved of Optimists, who still protest 
Whatever happens, happens for the best ; 



Who prate of " evil " as a thing un- 
known, 

A fancied color, or a seeming tone, 

A vague chimera cherished by the 
dull. 

The empty product of an emptier skull. 

Expert logicians they ! — to show at 
will, 

By ill philosophy, that naught is ill ! 

Should some sly rogue, the city's con- 
stant curse. 

Deplete your pocket and relieve your 
purse. 

Or if, approaching with ill-omened 
tread. 

Some bolder burglar break your house 
and head. 

Hold, friend, thy rage ! nay, let the ras- 
cal flee ; 

No evil has been done the world, or thee : 

Here comes Philosophy will make it 
plain 

Thy seeming loss is universal gain ! 

" Thy heap of gold was clearly grown 
too great, — 

'T were best the poor should share thy 
large estate ; 

While misers gather, that the knaves 
should steal. 

Is most conducive to the general weal ; 

Thus thieves the wrongs of avarice ef- 
face, 

And stand the friends and stewards of 
the race ; 

Thus every moral ill but serves, in fact. 

Some other equal ill to counteract." 

Sublime Philosophy ! — beui.nnant light ', 

Which sees in every pair of wrongs, a 
right ; 

Which finds no evil or in sin or pain, 

And proves that decalogues are writ in 
vain ! 

Hail, mighty Progress ! loftiest we 

find 
Thy stalking strides in science of the 

mind. 
What boots it now that Locke was 

learned and wise 1 



204 



PROGRESS. 



What boots It now that men have ears 

and e^-es ? 
" Pure Reason " in their stead now hears 

and sees, 
And walks apart in stately scorn of 

these ; 
Laughs at "experience," spurns "in- 
duction " hence, 
Scouting " the senses," and transcending 

sense. 
No more shall flippant ignorance inquire, 
" If German breasts may feel poetic 

fire," 
Nor German dullness write ten folios full. 
To show, for once, that Dutchmen are 

not dull.w 
For here Philosophy, acute, refined, 
Sings all the marvels of the human mind 
In strains so passing " dainty sweet " to 

hear. 
That e'en the nursery turns a ravished 

ear ! 
Here Wit and Pancy in scholastic 

bowers 
Twine beauteous wreaths of raetaphysic 

flowers ; 
Here Speculation pours her dazzling 

light, 
Here grand Invention wings a daring 

flight. 
And soars ambitious to the lofty moon, 
Whence, haply, freighted with some 

precious boon, 
Some old " Philosophy" in fog incased. 
Or new " Religion " for the changing 

taste. 
She straight descends to Learning's blest 

abodes. 
Just simultaneous with the Paris modes ! 
Here Plato's dogmas eloquently speak. 
Not as of yore, in grand and graceful 

Greek, 
But (quite beyond the dreaming sage's 

hope 
Of future glory in his fancy's scope). 
Translated down, as by some wizard 

touch. 
Find " immortality " in good high 

Dutch ! 

Happy the youth, in this our golden 

age. 
Condemned no more to con the prosy 

page 
Of Locke and Bacon, antiquated fools, 
Now justly banished from our moral 

schools. 
By easier modes philosophy Is taught. 



Than through the medium of laborious 
thought. 

Imagination kindly serves instead, 

And saves the pupil many an aching 
head. 

Room for the sages ! — hither come a 
throng 

Of blooming Platos trippingly along, 

In dress how fitted to beguile the fair ! 

What Intellectual, stately heads — of 
hair ! 

Hark to the Oracle ! — to Wisdom's 
tone 

Breathed in a fragrant zephyr of 
Cologne. 

That boy in gloves, the leader of the^ 
van, 

Talks of the "outer" and the "inner 
man," 

And knits his girlish brow in stout re- 
solve 

Some mountain-sized " idea " to " evolve." 

Delusive toil ! — thus in their infant 
days. 

When children mimic manly deeds in 
plays. 

Long will they sit, and eager " bob for 
whale " 

Within the ocean of a water-pail ! 

The next, whose looks unluckily reveal 

The ears portentous that his locks con- 
ceal. 

Prates of the "orbs" with such a know- 
ing frown. 

You deem he puffs some lithographic 
town 

In Western wilds, where yet unbroken 
ranks 

Of thrifty beavers build unchartered 
" banks," 

And prowling panthers occupy the lots 

Adorned with churches on the paper 
plots ! 

But ah ! what suffering harp is this 
we hear ? 

What jarring sounds invade the wound- 
ed ear 1 

Who o'er the lyre a hand spasmodic 
flings. 

And grinds harsh discord from the tor- 
tured strings 7 

The Sacred Muses, at the sound dis- 
mayed, 

Retreat disordered to their native shade, 

AudPhcBbus hastens to his high abode. 

And Orpheus frowns to hear an " Orphic 
ode ! " 



PROGRESS. 



205 



" Talk not, ye jockeys, of the won- 
drous speed 
That marks your Northern or your 

Southern steed ; 
See Progress fly o'er Education's 

course ! 
Not far-famed Derby owns a fleeter 

horse ! 
On rare Improvement's " short and 

easy " road, 
How swift her flight to Learning's blest 

abode ! 
In other times — 't was many years 

ago — 
The scholar s course was toilsome, 

rough, and slow : 
The fair Humanities were sought in 

tears, 
And came, the trophy of laborious 

years. 
Now Learning's shrine each idle youth 

may seek, 
And, spending there a shilling and a 

week, 
(At lightest cost of study, cash, and 

lungs,) 
Comes back, like Rumor, with a hundred 

tongues ! 

What boots such progress, when the 

golden load 
From heedless haste is lost upon the 

road 1 
When each great science, to the student's 

pace. 
Stands like the wicket in a hurdle 

race. 
Which to o'erleap is all the courser's 

mind, 
And all his glory that 't is left behind ! 

Nor less, Progress, are thy newest 

rules 
Enforced and honored in the " Ladies' 

School ; " 
Where Education, in its nobler sense, 
Gives place to Learning's shallowest 

pretense ; 
Where hapless maids, in spite of wish or 

taste, 
On vain " accomplishments " their mo- 
ments waste ; 
By cruel parents here condemned to 

wrench 
Their tender throats in mispronouncing 

French ; 
Here doomed to force, by unrelenting 

knocks. 



Reluctant music from a tortured box; 
Here tauglit, in inky shades aud rigid. 

lines. 
To perpetrate equivocal " designs ; " 
" Drawings " that prove " their title 

plainly true. 
By showing nature " drawn," and " quar- 
tered " too ! 
In ancient times, I 've heard my grand- 
am tell. 
Young maids were taught to read, and 

write, and spell ; 
(Neglected arts ! once learned by rigid 

rules. 
As prime essentials in the " common 

schools ; ") 
Well taught beside in many a useful 

art 
To mend the manners and improve the 

heart ; 
Nor yet unskilled to turn the busy 

wheel, 
To ply the shuttle, and to tvvii'l the 

reel, 
Could thiifty tasks with cheerful grace 

pursue, 
Themselves " accomplished," and their 

duties too. 
Of tongues, each maiden had but one, 

't is said, 
(Enough, 't was thought, to serve a 

lady's head,) 
But that was English, — great and 

1 . » > to 

glorious tongue, 
That Chatham spoke, and Milton, 

Shakespeare, sung ! 
Let thoughts too idle to be fitly dressed 
In sturdy Saxon be in French ex- 



Let lovers breathe Italian, — like, in 

sooth. 
Its singers, soft, emasculate, and smooth ; 
But for a tongue whose ample powers 

embrace 
Beauty and force, sublimity and grace. 
Ornate or plain, harmonious, yet strong, 
And formed alike for eloquence and 

song, 
Give me the English, — aptest tongue 

to paint 
A sage or dunce, a villain or a saint. 
To spur the slothful, counsel the dis- 
tressed, 
To lash the oppressor, and to soothe the 

oppressed, 
To lend fantastic Humor freest scope 
To marshall all his laughter-moving 

troop, 



206 



PROGRESS. 



Give Pathos power, and Fancy lightest 
wings, 

And Wit his merriest whims and keen- 
est stings ! 

The march of Progress let the Muse 
explore 
In pseudo-science and empiric lore. 
O sacred Science ! how art thou pro- 
faned, 
When shallow quacks and vagrants, un- 
restrained, 
Flaunt in thy robes, and vagabonds are 

known 
To brawl thy name, who never wrote 

their own ; 
When crazy theorists their addled 

schemes 
(Unseemly product of dyspeptic dreams) 
Impute to thee ! — as courtesans of 

yore 
Their spurious bantlings left at Mars's 

door; 
When each projector of a patent pill, 
Or happy founder of a coffee-mill, 
Invokes thine aid to celebrate his wares, 
And crown with gold his philanthropic 

cares ; 
Thus Islam's hawkers piously proclaim 
Their figs and pippins in the Prophet's 
name ! 

Some sage Physician, studious to ad- 
vance 

The art of healing, and its praise en- 
hance, 

By observation " scientific " finds 

(What else were hidden from inferior 
minds) 

That Water 's useful in a thousand 
ways, 

To cherish health, and lengthen out our 
days ; 

A mighty solvent in its simple scope 

And quite " specific " with Castilian 
soap ! 

The doctor's labors let the thoughtless 
scorn, 

See ! a new " science " to the world is 
born ; 

" Disease is dirt ! all pain the patient 
feels 

Is but the soiling of the vital wheels; 

To wash away all particles impure, 

And cleanse the system, plainly is to 
cure ! " 

Thus shouts the doctor, eloquent, and 
proud 



To teach his " science " to the gaping 

crowd ; 
Like "Father Mathew," eager to allure 
Afflicted mortals to his " water-cure ! " 

'T is thus that modern " sciences " are 
made. 
By bold assumption, pufiSng, and pa- 
rade. 
Take three stale " truths ; " a dozen 

" facts," assumed ; 
Two known "effects," and fifty more 

presumed ; 
"' Affinities " a score, to sense unknown, 
And, just as " lucits, non lucendo " shown. 
Add but a name of pompous Anglo- 
Greek, 
And only not impossible to speak. 
The work is done ; a " science " stands 

con f est. 
And countless welcomes greet the 
queenly guest. 

In closest girdle, reluctant Muse, 
In scantiest skirts, and lightest-stepping 

shoes, 1^ 
Prepare to follow Fashion's gay ad- 
vance, 
And thread the mazes of her motley 

dance : 
And, marking well each momentary hue, 
And transient form, that meets the 

wondering view, 
In kindred colors, gentle Muse, essay 
Her Protean phases fitly to betray. 
To-day, she slowly drags a cumbrous 

trail, 
And " Ton " rejoices in its length of 

tail; 
To-morrow, changing her capricious 

sport, 
She trims her flounces just as much too 

short ; 
To-day, right jauntily, a hat she wears 
That scarce affords a shelter to her 

ears ; 
To-morrow, haply, searching long in 

vain. 
You spy her features down a Leghorn 

lane ; 
To-day, she glides along with queenly 

grace, 
To-morrow, ambles in a mincing pace. 
To-day, erect, she loves a martial air, 
And envious train-bands emulate the 

fair ; 
To-morrow, changing as her whim may 

serve, 



PROGRESS. 



207 



" She stoops to conquer " in a " Grecian 

curve." ^2 
To-day, with careful negligence arrayed 
In scanty fulds, of woven zepiiyrs made, 
She moves like Dian in her woody 

bowers, 
Or Flora floating o'er a bed of flowers ; 
To-morrow, laden with a motley freight, 
Of startling bulk and formidable weight. 
She waddles forth, ambitious to amaze 
The vulgar crowd, who giggle as they 

gaze. 

Despotic Fashion ! potent is her sway. 

Whom half the world full loyally obey ; 

Kings bow submissive to her stern de- 
crees, 

And proud Republics bend their necks 
and knees ; 

Where'er we turn the attentive eye, is 
seen 

The worshiped presence of the modish 
queen ; 

In Dress, Philosophy, Religion, Art, 

Whate'er employs the head, or hand, or 
heart. 

Is some fine lady quite o'ercome with 

woes, 
From an unyielding pimple on her nose. 
Some unaccustomed "buzzing in her 

ears/' 
Or other marvel to alarm her fears ? 
Fashion, with skill and judgment ever 

nice, 
At once advises " medical advice ! " 
'i'hen names her doctor, who, arrived in 

haste, 
Proceeds accordant with the laws oi 

taste. 
If real ills afflict the modish dame, 
Her blind idolatry is still the same ; 
Less grievous far, she deems it, to en- 
dure 
Genteel malpractice, than a vulgar cure. 
If, spite of gilded pills and golden fees, 
Her dear dyspepsia grows a dire disease, 
And Doctor Dapper proves a shallow 

rogue. 
The world must own that both were 

much in vogue. 

What impious mockery, when, with 

soulless art. 
Fashion, intrusive, seeks to rule the 

heart ! 
Directs how grief may tastefully be 

borne ; , 



Instructs Bereavement just how long to 
mourn ; 

Shows Sorrow how by nice degrees to 
fade. 

And marks its measure in a ribbon's 
shade ! 

More impious still, when, through her 
wanton laws. 

She desecrates Religion's sacred cause ; 

Shows how " the narrow road " is easi- 
est trod, 

And how, genteelest, worms may wor- 
ship God ; 

How sacred rites may bear a worldly 
grace, 

And self-abasement wear a haughty 
face; 

How sinners, long in Folly's mazes 
whirled, 

With pomp and splendor may " re- 
nounce the world ; " 

How, " with all saints hereafter to ap- 
pear," 

Yet quite escape the vulgar portion 
here ! 

Imperial fashion ! her impartial care 
Things most momentous, and most 

trivial, share ; 
Now crushing conscience (her invet'rate 

foe). 
And now a waist, and now, perchance, 

a toe ; 
At once for pistols and " the Polka " 

votes. 
And shapes alike our characters and 

coats. 
The gravest question which the world 

divides, 
And lightest riddle, in a breath decides : 
" If wrong may not, by circumstance, be 

right," — 
" If black cravats be more genteel than 

white," — 
"If by her 'bishop,' or her 'grace,' 

alone, 
A genuine lady, or a church, is 

known ; " — 
Problems like these she solves with 

graceful air. 
At once a casuist and a connoisseur. 

Does some sleek knave, whom magic 

money-bags 
Have raised above his fellow-knaves in 

rags, 
Some willing minion of unblushing 

Vice, 



208 



PROGRESS. 



Who boasts that " Virtue ever has her 
price," — 

Does he, unpitying, blast thy sister's 
fame. 

Or doom thy daughter to undying 
shame, 

To bow her head beneath the eye of 
scorn, 

And droop and wither in her maiden 
morn ? 

Fashion " regrets," declares " 't was 
very wrong," 

And, quite dejected, hums an opera 
song. 

Impartial friend, your cause to her ap- 
pealed. 

Yourself and foe she summons to the 
field, 

Where Honor carefully the case ob- 
serves, 

And nicely weighs it in a scale of nerves. 

Despotic rite ! whose fierce, vindictive 
reign 

Boasts, uurebuked, its countless victims 
slain, 

While Christian rulers, recreant, sup- 
port 

The pagan honors of thy bloody court, 

And '' Freedom's champions " spurn 
their hallowed trust, 

Kneel at thy nod, and basely lick the 
dust. 

Degraded Congress ! once the hon- 
ored scene 

Of patriotic deeds ; where men of sol- 
emn mien, 

In virtue strong, in understanding 
clear, 

Earnest, though courteous, and, though 
smooth, sincere, 

To gravest counsels lent the teeming 
hours. 

And gave their country all their mighty 
powers . 

But times are changed, a rude, degen- 
erate race 

Usurp the seats, and shame the sacred 
place. 

Here plotting demagogues with zeal 
defend 

The " people's rights," — to gain some 
private end. 

Here Southern youths, on Folly's surges 
tost. 

Their fathers' wisdom eloquently boast. 

(So dowerless spinsters proudly number 
o'er 



The costly jewels that their grandams 
wore.) 

Here would-be Tullys pompously pa- 
rade 

Their tumid tropes for simple " Bun- 
combe " made,^3 

Full ou the chair the chilling torrent 
shower, 

And work their word-pumps through the 
allotted hour. 

Deluded "Buncombe ! " Avhile, with 
honest praise, 

She notes each grand and patriotic 
phrase. 

And, much rejoicing in her hopeful son, 

Deems all her own the laurels he has 
won, 

She little dreams how brother members 
fled, 

And left the house as vacant as his 
head ! 

Here rural Chathams, eager to attest 

The " growing greatness of the mighty 
West," 

To make the plainest proposition clear, 

Crack Priscian's head, and Mr. Speak- 
er's ear ; 

Then, closing up in one terrific shout, 

Pour all their " wild-cats " furiously 
out! 

Here lawless boors with ruffian bullies 
vie, 

Who last shall give the rude, insulting 
" lie," 

While " Order ! order ! " loud the chair- 
man calls. 

And echoing " Order ! " every member 
bawls ; 

Till rising high in rancorous debate, 

And higher still in fierce envenomed 
hate.i* 

Retorted blows the scene of riot crown. 

And big Lycurgus knocks the lesser 
down ! 

Ye honest dames in frequent proverbs 

named, 
For finest fish and foulest English famed, 
Whose matchless tongues, 't is said, 

were never heard 
To speak a flattering or a feeble word, — 
Here all your choice invective ye might 

urge 
Our lawless Solons fittingly to scourge ; 
Here, in congenial company, might 

rail 
Till, quite worn out, your creaking 

voices fail, — 



PROGRESS. 



209 



Unless, indeed, for once compelled to 

yield 
In wordy strife, ye vanquished quit the 

field! 

Hail, Social Progress ! each new moon 
is rife 

With some new theory of social life. 

Some matchless scheme ingeniously de- 
signed 

Prom half their miseries to free man- 
kind ; 

On human wrongs triumphant war to 
wage, 

And bring anew the glorious golden age. 

"Association " is the magic word 

From many a social " priest and proph- 
et " heard, 

" Attractive Labor " is the angel given. 

To render earth a sublunary Heaven ! 

" Attractive Labor ! " ring the changes 
round, 

And labor grows attractive in the sound ; 

And many a youthful mind, where 
haply lurk 

Unwelconied fancies at the name of 
" work," j» 

Sees pleasant pastime in its longing 
view 

Of " toil made easy " and " attractive " 
too, 

And, fancy-rapt, with joyful ardor, 
turns 

Delightful grindstones and seductive 
churns ! 

" Men are not bad," these social sages 
preach ; 

"Men are not what their actions seem 
to teach ; 

No moral ill is natural or fixed, — 

Men only err by being badly mixed ! " 

To them the world a huge plum-pud- 
ding seems. 

Made up of richest viands, fruits, and 
creams. 

Which of all choice ingredients par- 
took. 

And then was ruined by a blundering 
cook ! 

Inventive France ! what wonder-work- 
ing schemes 
Astound the world whene'er a French- 
man dreams. 
What fine-spun theories, — ingenious, 

new. 
Sublime, stupendous, everything but 
true ! 

14 



One little favor, O " Imperial France ! " 
Still teach the world to cook, to dress, 

to dance ; 
Let, if thou wilt, thy boots and barbers 

roam, 
But keep tliy morals and thy creeds at 

home ! 

O might the Muse prolong her flowing 
rhyme 

(Too closely cramped by unrelenting 
Time, 

Whose dreadful scythe swings heedlessly 
along. 

And, missing speeches, clips the thread 
of song), 

How would she strive, in fitting verse, to 
sing 

The wondrous Progress of the Printing 
King ! 

Bibles and Novels, Treatises and 
Songs, 

Lectures on " Rights," and Strictures 
upon Wrongs ; 

Verse in all metres, Travels in all 
climes. 

Rhymes without reason. Sonnets with- 
out rhymes ; 

" Translations from the French," so 
vilely done. 

The wheat escaping leaves the chaff 
alone ; 

Memoirs, where dunces steadily essay 

To cheat Oblivion of her certain prey ; 

Critiques, where pedants vauutingly ex- 
pose 

Unlicensed verses in unlawful prose ; 

Lampoons, whose authors strive in vain 
to throw 

Their headless arrows from a nerveless 
bow; 

Poems by youths, who, crossing Nature's 
will. 

Harangue the landscape they were born 
to till; 

Huge tomes of Law, that lead by rug- 
ged routes 

Through ancient dogmas down to mod- 
ern doubts; 

Where Judges oft, with well-affected 
ease. 

Give learned reasons for absurd de- 
crees, 

Or, more ingenious still, contrive to 
found 

Some just decision on fallacious ground. 

Or blink the point, and, haply, in its 
place, 






210 



Moot 



THE MONEY-Kl 



and 
case : 



decide some hypothetic 



Smart Epigrams, all sadly out of joint, 

And pointless, — save the " exclamation 
point," 

Which stands in state, with vacant won- 
der fraught, 

The pompous tombstone of some pauper 
thought ; 

Ingenious systems based on doubtful 
facts, 

" Tracts for the Times," and most un- 
timely tracts ; 

Polemic Pamphlets, Literary Toys, 

And Easy Lessons for uneasy boys ; 

Hebdomadal Gazettes, and Daily 
News, 

Gay Magazines, and Quarterly Re- 
views : — 

Small portion these, of all the vast ar- 
ray 

Of darkened leaves that cloud each pass- 
ing day. 

And pour their tide unceasingly along, 

A gathering, swelling, overwhelming 
throng ! 

Cease, my Muse, nor, indiscreet, 
prolong 

To epic length thy unambitious song. 

Good friends, be gentle to a maiden 
Muse, 

Her errors pardon, and her faults ex- 
cuse. 

Not uninvited to her task she came,^^ 

To sue for favor, nor to seek for 
fame. 

Be this, at least, her just though humble 
praise : 

No stale excuses heralded her lays. 

No singer's trick, — conveniently to 
bring 

A sudden cough, when importuned to 
sing ; 16 

No deprecating phrases, learned by 
rote, — 

" She 'd quite forgot," or " never knew 
a note," — 

But to her task, with ready zeal, ad- 
dressed 

Her earnest cure, and aimed to do her 
best; 

Strove to be just in each satiric word, 

To doubtful wit undoubted truth pre- 
ferred. 

To please and profit equally has aimed, 

Nor been ill-natured even when she 
blamed. 






THI 

A POEM DELIVERED BEFORE THE PHI 
BETA KAPPA SOCIETY OF YALE 
COLLEGE, 1854. 

As landsmen, sitting in luxurious ease. 
Talk of the dangers of the stormy seas ; 
As fireside travelers, with portentous 

mien, 
Tell tales of countries they have never 

seen; 
As parlor-soldiers, graced with fancy- 
scars, 
Rehearse their bravery in imagined 

M'ars ; 
As arrant dunces have been known to 

sit 
In grave discourse of wisdom and of 

wit; 
As paupers, gathered in congenial 

flocks, 
Babble of banks, insurances, and stocks ; 
As each is ofteuest eloquent of what 
He hates or covets, but possesses 

not; — 
As cowards talk of pluck ; misfers, of 

waste ; 
Scoundrels, of honor; country clowns, 

of taste ; — 
I sing of Money ! — no ignoble theme, 
But loftier far then poetasters dream, 
Whose fancies, soaring to their native 

moon, 
Rise like a bubble or a gay balloon. 
Whose orb aspiring takes a heavenward 

flight. 
Just in proportion as it 's thin and light ! 

Kings mttst have Poets. Prom the ear- 
liest times, 

Monarchs have loved celebrity in 
rhymes ; 

Prom good King Robert, who, in Pe- 
trarch's days, 

Taught to mankind the proper use of 
bays, 

And, singling out the prince of Son- 
neteers, 

Twined wreaths of laurel round his 
blushing ears ; 

Down to the Queen, who, to her chosen 
bard. 

In annual token of her kind regard, 

Sends not alone the old poetic greens. 

But, like a woman and the best of 
queens, 



THE MONEY-KING. 



211 



Adds to the leaves, to keep them fresh 
and fine, 

The wholesome moisture of a pipe 
of wine ! — 

So may her minstrel, crowned with 
royal bays, 

Alternate praise her pipe and pipe her 
praise ! 

E'en let him chant his smooth, eu- 
phonious lays : 

A loftier theme my humbler Muse es- 
says; 

A mightier monarch be it hers to sing, 

And claim her laurel from the Money- 
King ! 

Great was King Alfred ; and if history 

state 
His actions truly, good as well as great. 
Great was the Norman ; he whose mar- 
tial hordes 
Taught law and order to the Saxon 

lords. 
With gentler thoughts their rugged 

minds imbued, 
And raised the nation whom he first 

subdued. 
Great was King Bess ! — I see the critic 

smile, 
As though the Muse mistook her proper 

style ; 
But to her purpose she will stoutly 

cling, 
The royal maid was " every inch a 

King ! " 
Great was Napoleon, — and I would 

that fate 
Might prove his namesake-nephew half 

as great ; 
Meanwhile this hint I venture to ad- 
vance : — 
What France admires is good enough 

for France ! 
Great princes were they all ; but greater 

far 
Than English King, or mighty Russian 

Czar, 
Or Pope of Rome, or haughty Queen of 

of Spain, 
Baron of Germany, or Royal Dane, 
Or Gallic Emperor, or Persian Khan, 
Or any other merely mortal man. 
Is the great monarch that my Muse 

would sing, 
That mighty potentate, the Money- 
King ! 
His kingdom vast extends o'er every 

land^ 



And nations bow before his high com- 
mand. 

The weakest tremble, and his power 
obey. 

The sti'ongest honor, and confess his 
sway. 

He rules the Rulers ! — e'en the tyrant 
Czar 

Asks his permission ere he goes to war ; 

The Turk, submissive to his royal 
might. 

By his decree has gracious leave to 
fight; 

Whilst e'en Britannia makes her hum- 
blest bow 

Before her Barings, not her Barons 
now. 

Or on the Rothschild suppliantly calls 

(Her affluent " uncle " with the golden 
balls). 

Begs of the Jew that he will kindly 
spare 

Enough to put her trident in repair. 

And pawns her diamonds, while she 
humbly craves' 

The Money-King's consent to "rule the 
waves ! " 

He wears no crown upon his royal head, 
But many millions in his purse, instead ; 
He keeps no halls of state; but holds 

his court 
In dingy rooms where greed and thrift 

resort ; 
In iron chests his wondrous wealth he 

hoards ; 
Banks are his parlors ; brokers are his 

lords, 
Bonds, bills, and mortgages, his favorite 

books, 
Gold is his food, and coiners are his 

cooks ; 
Ledgers his records; stock reports his 

news ; 
Merchants his yeomen, and his bonds- 
men Jews ; 
Engs are his subjects, gamblers are his 

knaves, 
Spendthrifts his fools, and misers are his 

slaves ! 
The good, the bad, his golden favor 

prize ; 
The high, the low, the simple, and the 

wise. 
The young the old, the stately, and the 

gay, — 

All bow obedient to his royal sway ! 
See where, afar, the bright Pacific shore 



212 



THE MONEY-KING. 



Gleams in the sun with sands of shining 

ore, 
His last, great empire rises to the view, 
And shames the wealth of India and 

Peru ! 
Here, throned within his gorgeous 

"golden gate," 
He wields his sceptre o'er the rising 

State ; 
Surveys his conquest with a joyful eye, 
Nor for a greater heaves a single sigh ! 
Here, quite beyond the classic poet's 

dream, 
Pactolus runs in every winding stream ; 
The mountain cliffs the glittering ore 

enfold. 
And every reed that rustles whispers, 

" Gold ! " 

If to his sceptre some dishonor clings, 

Why should we marvel 1 — 't is the fate 
of kings ! 

Their power too oft perverted by abuse. 

Their manners cruel, or their morals 
loose ; 

The best at times have wandered far 
astray 

From simple Virtue's unseductive way ; 

And few, of all, at once could make pre- 
tense 

To royal robes and rustic innocence ! 

He builds the house where Christian 

people pray, 
And rears a bagnio just across the way ; 
Pays to the priest his stinted annual 

fee ; 
Eewards the lawyer for his venal plea ; 
Sends an apostle to the heathen's aid ; 
And cheats the Choctaws, for the good 

of trade ; 
Lifts by her heels an EUsler to renown. 
Or, bribing "Jenny," brings an angel 

down ! 
He builds the Theatres and gambling 

Halls, 
Lloyds and Almacks, St. Peter's and St. 

Paul's ; 
Sin's gay retreats and Fashion's gilded 

rooms. 
Hotels and Factories, Palaces and 

Tombs ; • 
Bids Commerce spread her wings to 

every gale ; 
Bends to the breeze the pirate's bloody 

sail ; 
Helps Science seek new worlds among 

the stars ; 



Profanes our own with mercenary 

wars ; 
The friend of wrong, the equal friend 

of right, 
Oft may Ave bless and oft deplore his 

might, 
As buoyant hope or darkening fears 

prevail. 
And good or evil turns the moral scale. 

All fitting honor I would fain accord. 

Whene'er he builds a temple to the 
Lord ; 

But much I grieve he often spends his 
pelf. 

As it were raised in honor of himself; 

Or, what were worse, and more pro- 
fanely odd, 

A place to worship some Egyptian god ! 

I wish his favorite architects were 
graced 

With sounder judgment, and a Chris- 
tian taste. 
Immortal Wren ! what fierce, con- 
vulsive shocks 

Would jar thy bones within their leaden 
box, 

Couldst thou but look across the briny 
spray. 

And see some churches of the present 
day! — 

The lofty dome of consecrated bricks. 

Where all the " orders " in disorder 
mix. 

To form a temple whose incongruous 
frame 

Confounds design and puts the Arts to 
shame ! 

Where " styles " discordant on the vision 
jar. 

Where Greek and Roman are again at 
war, 

And, as of old, the unrelenting Goth 

Comes down at last and overwhelms 
them both ! 

Once on a time I heard a parson say 
(Talking of churches in a sprightly 

way). 
That there was more Religion in the 

walls 
Of towering " Trinity," or grand " St. 

Paul's," 
Than one could find, upon the strictest 

search, 
In half the saints within the Christian 

Church ! 
A layman sitting at the parson's side 



THE MONEY-KING. 



213 



To the new dogma thus at once re- 
plied : 
"If, as j^ou say, "Religion has her home 
In the mere walls that form the sacred 

dome, 
It seems to me the very plainest case, 
To climb the steeple were a growth in 

grace ; 
And he to whom the pious strength 

were given 
To reach the highest were the nearest 

Heaven ! " 
I thought the answer just ; and yet 't is 

clear 
A solemn aspect, grand and yet severe. 
Becomes the house of God. 'T is hard 

to say 
"Who from the proper mark are most 

astray, — 
They who erect, for holy Christian rites, 
A gay Pagoda with its tinsel lights. 
Or they who offer to the God of Love 
A gorgeous Temple of the pagan Jove ! 

Immortal Homer and Tassoni sing 
What vast results from trivial causes 

spring ; 
How naughty Helen by her .stolen joy 
Brought woe and ruin to unhappy Troy ; 
How, for a bucket, rash Bologna sold 
More blood and tears than twenty such 

could hold ! 
Thy power, O Money, shows results as 

strange 
As aught revealed in History's widest 

range ; 
Thy smallest coin of shining silver shows 
More potent magic than a conjurer 

knows ! 
In olden times, — if classic poets say 
The simple truth, as poets do to-day, — 
When Charon's boat conveyed a spirit 

o'er 
The Lethean Avater to the Hadean shore. 
The fare was just a penny, — not too 

great, 
The moderate, regular, Stygian statute 

rate. 
Now, for a shilling, he will cross the 

stream, 
(His paddles whirling to the force of 

steam!) 
And bring, obedient to some wizard 

power. 
Back to the Earth more spirits in an 

hour 
Than Brooklyn's famous ferry could 

convey. 



Or thine, Hoboken, in the longest day! 

Time was when men bereaved of vital 
breath 

Were calm and silent in the realms of 
Death ; 

When mortals dead and decently in- 
urned 

Were heard no more; no traveler re- 
turned. 

Who once had crossed the dark Pluto- 
nian strand, 

To whisper secrets of the spirit-land, — 

Save when perchance some sad, unquiet 
soul 

Among the tombs might wander on pa- 
role, — 

A well-bred ghost, at night's bewitching 
noon. 

Returned to catch some glimpses of the 
moon, 

Wrapt in a mantle of unearthly white 

(The only 'rapping of an ancient sprite). 

Stalked round in silence till the break 
of A&Y, 

Then from the Earth passed unperceived 
away. 
Now all is changed : the musty maxim 
fails, 

And dead men do repeat the queerest 
tales ! 

Alas, that here, as in the books, we see 

The travelers clash, the doctors disa- 
gree ! 

Alas, that all, the farther they explore. 

For all their search are but confused 
the more ! 
Ye great departed ! — men of mighty 
mark, — 

Bacon and Newton, Adams, Adam 
Clarke, 

Edwards and Whitefield, Franklin, Rob- 
ert Hall, 

Calhoun, Clay, Channing, Daniel Web- 
ster, — all 

Ye great quit-tenants of this earthly 
ball, — 

If in your new abodes ye cannot rest. 

But must return, 0, grant us this re- 
quest : 

Come with a noble and celestial air. 

To prove your title to the names ye 
bear ! 

Give some clear token of your heavenly 
birth. 

Write as good Enelish as ye wrote on 
earth ! 

Show not to all, in ranting prose and 
verse. 



214 



THE MONEY-KING. 



The spirit's progress is from bad to 
worse ; 

And, what were ouce superfluous to ad- 
vise, 

Don't tell, I beg you, such egregious 
lies ; 

Or if perchance your agents are to blame, 

Don't let them trifle with your honest 
fame ; 

Let chairs and tables rest, and " rap " 
instead, 

Ay, " knock " your slippery " Medi- 
ums " on the head ! 

What direful woes the hapless man at- 
tend, 
Who in the means sees life's supremest 

end ; 
The wretched miser, — money's sordid 

slave, — 
His only joy to gather and to save. 
For this he wakes at morning's early 

light, 
Toils through the day, and ponders in 

the night ; 
For this, — to swell his heap of tarnished 

gold, — 
Sweats in the sun, and shivers in the 

cold, 
And suffers more from hunger every 

day 
Than the starved beggar whom he 

spurns away. 
Death comes erewhile to end his worldly 

strife ; 
With all his saving he must lose his life ! 
Perchance the doctor might protract his 

breath, 
And stay the dreadful messenger of 

death ; 
But none is there to comfort or advise ; 
'T would cost a dollar ; — so the miser 

dies. 

Sad is the sight when Money's power 

controls 
In wedlock's chains the fate of human 

souls. 
From mine to mint, curst is the coin 

that parts 
In helpless grief two loving human 

hearts ; 
Or joins in discord, jealousy, and hate, 
A sordid suitor to a loathing mate. 
. I waive the case, the barren case, of 

those 
Who have no hearts to cherish or to 

lose; 



Whose wedded state is but a bargain 
made 

In due accordiince with the laws of trade. 

When the prim parson joins their willing 
hands, 

To marry City lots to Western lands, 

Or in connubial ecstasy to mix 

Cash and " collateral, " ten-pei'-cents 
with six, 

And in the " patent safe." of Hymen 
locks 

Impassioned dollars M'ith enamoured 
stocks, 

Laugh if you will, — and who can well 
refrain ? — 

But waste no tears, nor pangs of pity- 
ing pain ; 

Hearts such as these may play the 
queerest pranks. 

But never break, — except with break- 
ing banks. 

Yet, let me hint, a thousand maxims 
prove 

Plutus may be the truest friend to Love. 

" Love in a cottage " cosily may dwell. 

But much prefers to have it furnished 
well. 

A parlor ample, and a kitchen snug, 

A handsome carpet, an embroidered 
rug, 

A well-stored pantry, and a tidy maid, 

A blazing hearth, a cooling window- 
shade. 

Though merely mortal, money-pur- 
chased things, 

Have wondrous power to clip Love's 
errant wings ! 
" Love in a cottage " is n't just the 
same 

When wind and water strive to quench 
his flame ; 

Too oft it breeds the sharpest discontent. 

That puzzling question, " How to pay 
the rent ; " 

A smoky chimney may alone suffice 

To dim the radiance of the fondest 
eyes ; 

A northern blast, beyond the slightest 
doubt, 

May fairly blow the torch of Hymen 
out; 

And I have heard a worthy patron hold 

(As one who knew the truth of what 
she told). 

Love once was drowned, though reck- 
oned waterproof. 

By the mere dripping of a leaky roof ! 



THE MONEY-KING. 



215 



Full many a wise philosopher has 

tried 
Mankind in fitting orders to divide ; 
And by their forms, their fashions, and 

their face. 
To group, assort, and classify the race. 
One would distinguish people by their 

books ; 
Another, quaintly, solely by their cooks ; 
And one, who graced the philosophic 

bench, 
Found these three classes, — "women, 

men, and French ! " 
The best remains, of all that I have 

known, 
A broad distinction, brilliant, and my 

own : 
Of all mankind, I classify the lot. 
Those who 'have Money, and those who 

have not ! 

Think'st thou the line a poet's fiction ? 

— then 
Go look abroad upon the ways of men ! 
Go as"k the banker, -with his golden 

seals ; 
Go ask the borrower, cringing at tis 

heels ; 
Go ask the maid, who, emulous of woe. 
Discards the worthier for the wealthier 

beau ; 
Go ask the parson, when a higher prize 
Points with the salary where his duty 

lies; 
Go ask the lawyer, who, in legal smoke. 
Stands, like a stoker, redolent of 

" Coke," 
And swings his arms to emphasize a 

plea 
Made doubly ardent by a golden fee ; 
Go ask the doctor, who has kindly 

sped 
Old Crossus, dying on a damask bed. 
While his poor neighbor — wonderful 

to tell — 
Was left to Nature, suffered, and got 

well! 
Go ask the belle, in high patrician pride. 
Who spurns the maiden nurtured at her 

side, 
Her youth's loved playmate at the vil- 
lage school, 
Ere changing fortune taught the rigid 

rule 
Which marks the loftier from the 

lowlier lot, — 
Those who have money frpm those whp 

have not ! 



Of all the ills that owe their baneful 

rise 
To wealth o'ergrown, the most despotic 

vice 
Is Circean Luxury ; prolific dame 
Of mental impotence and moral shame. 
And all the cankering evils that de- 
base 
The human form and dwarf the human 

race. 
See yon strange figure, and a moment 

scan 
That slenderest sample of the genus 

man! 
Mark, as he ambles, those precarious 

pegs 
Which by their motion must be deemed 

his legs ! 
He has a head, — one may be sure of 

that 
By just obser\'ing that he wears a hat ; 
That he has arms is logically plain 
From his wide coat-sleeves and his pen- 
dent cane ; 
A tongue as well, — the inference is 

fair, 
Since, on occasion, he can lisp and 

swear. 
You ask his use 1 — that 's not so very 

dear. 
Unless to spend five thousand pounds a 

year 
In modish vices which his soul adores, 
Drink, dress, and gaming, horses, 

hounds, and scores 
Of other follies which I can't rehearse, 
Dear to himself and dearer to his purse. 

No product he of Fortune's fickle dice. 
The due result of Luxury and Vice, 
Three generations have sufiiced to 

bring 
That narrow chested, pale, enervate 

thing 
Down from a man, — for, marvel as you 

will, 
His huge great-grandsire fought on 

Bunker Hill ! 
Bore, without gloves, a musket through 

the war ; 
Came back adorned witli many a noble 

scar ; 
Labored and prospered at a thriving 

rate, 
And, dying, left his heir a snug estate, — 
Which grew apace upon his busy hands, 
Stocks, ships, and factories, tenements 

and lands. 



216 



THE MONEY-KING. 



All here at last, — the money and the 

race, — 
The latter ending in that foolish face ; 
The former wandering, far beyond his 

aim, 
Back to the rough plebeians whence it 

came ! 

Enough of censure ; let my humble 

lays 
Employ one moment in congenial praise. 
Let other pens with pious ardor paint 
The selfish virtues of the cloistered 

saint ; 
In lettered marble let the stranger read 
Of him who, dying, did a worthy deed, 
And left to charity the cherished store 
Which, to his sorrow, he could hoard no 

more. 
I venerate the nobler man who gives 
His generous dollars while the donor 

lives ; 
Gives with a heart as liberal as the 

palms 
That to the needy spread his honored 

alms ; 
Gives with a head whose yet unclouded 

light 
To worthiest objects points the giver's 

sight ; 
Gives with a hand still potent to enforce 
His well-aimed bounty, and direct its 

course ; — 
Such is the giver who must stand con- 

fest 
In giving glorious, and supremely blest! 
One such as this the captious world 

could find 
In noble Perkins, angel of the blind ; 
One such as this in princely Lawrence 

shone. 
Ere heavenly kindred claimed him for 

their own! 

To me the boon may gracious Heaven 

assign, — 
No cringing suppliant at Mammon's 

shrine, 
Nor slave of Poverty, — with Joy to 

share 
The happy mean expressed in Agur's 

prayer : — 



A house (my own) to keep me safe and 
warm, 

A shade in sunshine, and a shield in 
storm ; 

A generous board, and fitting raiment, 
clear 

Of debts and duns throughout the cir- 
cling year ; 

Silver and gold, in moderate store, that I 

May purchase joys that only these can 
buy ; 

Some gems of art, a cultured mind to 
please, 

Books, pictures, statues, literary ease. 

That " Time is money" prudent Frank- 
lin shows 

In rhyming couplets and sententious 
prose. 

Oh, had he taught the world, in prose 
and rhyme. 

The higher truth that Money may be 
Time ! 

And showed the people, in his pleasant 
ways. 

The art of coining dollars into days ! 

Days for improvement, days for social 
life, 

Days for your God, your children, and 
your wife ; 

Some days for pleasure, and an hour to 
spend 

In genial converse with an honest friend. 

Such days be mine ! — and grant me, 
Heaven, but this. 

With blooming health, man's highest 
earthly bliss, — 

And I will read, without a sigh or 
frown, 

The startling news that stocks are going 
down ; 

Hear without envy that a stranger 
hoards 

Or spends more treasure than a mint 
affords ; 

See my next neighbor pluck a golden 
plum, 

Calm and content within my cottage- 
home ; 

Take for myself what honest thrift may 
bring. 

And for his kindness bless the Money- 
King! 



THE GOOD TIME COMING. 



217 



EXCERPTS FROM O00ASIOE"AL POEMS. 



EL DOEADO. 

Let others, dazzled by the shining ore, 

Delve in the dirt to gather golden 
store. 

Let others, patient of the menial toil 

And daily suffering, seek the precious 
spoil ; 

No hero I, in such a cause to brave 

Hunger and pain, the robber and the 
grave. 

I '11 work, instead, exempt from hate 
and harm. 

The fruitful " placers " of my mountain- 
farm, 

Where the bright ploughshare opens 
richest veins, 

From whence shall issue countless golden 
grains. 

Which in the fullness of the year shall 
come, 

In bounteous sheaves, to bless my har- 
vest-home ! 

But, haply, good may come of mining 

yet : 
'T will help to pay the nation's foreign 

debt ; 
'T will further liberal arts ; plate rings 

and pins, 
Gild books and coaches, mirrors, signs, 

and sins ; 
'T will cheapen pens and pencils, and 

perchance 
May give us honest dealing for Finance ! 
(That magic art, unknown to darker 

times. 
When fraud and falsehood were re- 
puted crimes, 
Whose curious laws with nice precision 

teach 
How whole estates are made from parts 

of speech ; 
How lying rags for honest coin shall 

pass, 
And foreign gold be paid in native 

brass !) 



'T will save, perhaps, each deep-indebted 

State 
From all temptation to " repudiate," 
Till Timg restore our precious credit 

lost. 
And hush the wail of Peter Plymley's 

ghost ! 1' 



THE GOOD TIME COMING. 

While drones and dreaming optimists 
protest, 

" The worst is well, and all is for the 
best ; " 

And sturdy croakers chant the counter 
song. 

That " man grows worse, and everything 
is wrong ; " 

Truth, as of old, still loves a golden 
mean, 

And shuns extremes to walk erect be- 
tween ! 

The world improves ; with slow, un- 
equal pace, 

" The Good Time 's coming" to our hap- 
less race. 

The general tide beneath the refluent 
surge 

Rolls on, resistless, to its destined verge ! 

Unfriendly hills no longer interpose i^ 

As stubborn walls to geographic foes. 

Nor envious streams run only to divide 

The hearts of brethren ranged on either 
side. 

Promethean Science, with untiring eye 

Searching the mysteries of the earth 
and sky ; 

And cunning Art, with strong and plas- 
tic hand 

To work the marvels Science may com- 
mand; 

And broad-winged Commerce, swift to 
carry o'er 

Earth's countless blessings to her far- 
thest shore, — 



218 



THE LIBRARY. 



These, and no German nor Genevan 

sage, 
These are the great reformers of the 

age ! 

See Art, exultant in her stately car, 
On Nature's Titans wage triumphant 

war ! 
While e'en the Lightnings by her won- 
drous skill 
Are tamed for heralds of her sovereign 

will! 
Old Ocean's breast a new invader feels, 
And heaves in vain to clog her iron 

wheels ; 
In vain the Forests marshal all their 

force, 
And Mountains rise to stay her onward 

course : 
From out her path each bold opposer 

luirled, 
She throws her girdle round a captive 

world ! 



THE POWER-PRESS. 

Strange is the sound when first the 

notes begin 
Where human voices blend with Vul- 
can's din ; 
The chck, the clank, the clangor, and 

the sound 
Of rattling rollers in their rapid round ; 
The whizzing belt, the sharp metallic 

jar, 
Like clashing spears in fierce chivalric 

war; 
The whispering birth of myriad flying 

leaves. 
Gathered, anon, in countless motley 

sheaves. 
Then scattered far, as on the winged 

wind, 
The mortal nurture of th' immortal 

mind ! 



THE LIBRARY. 

Here, e'en the sturdy democrat may 

find, 
Nor scorn their rank, the nobles of the 

mind ; 
While kings may learn, nor blush at 

being shewn, 



How Learning's patents abrogate their 
own. 

A goodly company and fair to see : 

Royal plebeians ; earls of low degree ; 

Beggars whose wealth enriches every 
clime ; 

Princes who scarce can boast a mental 
dime, 

Crowd here together, like the quaint ar- 
ray 

Of jostling neighbors on a market 
day: 

Homer and Milton, — can we call them 
blind ? — 

Of godlike sight, the vision of the mind ; 

Shakespeare, who calmly looked crea- 
tion through, 

" Exhausted worlds, and then imagined 
new ; " 

Plato the sage, so thoughtful and se- 
rene. 

He seems a prophet by his heavenly 
mien ; 

Shrewd Socrates, whose philosophic 
power 

Xantippe proved in many a trying 
hour; 

And Aristophanes, whose humor run 

In vain endeavor to be-" cloud " the 
sun ; 13 

Majestic ^schylus, whose glowing page 

Holds half the grandeur of the Athenian 
stage ; 

Pindar, whose odes, replete with heav- 
enly fire. 

Proclaim the master of the Grecian 
lyre ; 

Anacreon, famed for many a luscious 
line 

Devote to Yenus and the god of wine. 

I love vast libraries ; yet there is a 
doubt 

If one be better with them or with- 
out, — 

Unless he use them wisely, and, indeed, 

Knows the high art of what and how to 
read. 

At Learning's fountain it is sweet to 
drink. 

But 't is a nobler privilege to think ; 

And oft, from books apart, the thirst- 
ing mind 

May make the nectar which it cannot 
find. 

'T is well to borrow from the good and 
great ; 

'T is wise to learn ; 't is goUlike to cre- 
ate ! 



THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM. 



219 



THE NEWS. 

The Neivs, indeed ! — pray do you call 

it news 
When shallow noddles publish shallow 

views 1 
Pray, is it news that turnips should be 

bred 
As large and hollow as the owner's 

head 1 
News, that a clerk should rob his mas- 
ter's hoard, 
Whose meagre salary scarcely pays his 

board 1 
News, that two knaves, their spurious 

friendship o'er, 
Should tell the truths which they con- 
cealed before ? 
News, that a maniac, weary of his life, 
Should end his sorrows with a rope or 

knife 1 
News, that a wife should violate the 

vows 
That bind her, loveless, to a tyrant 

spouse ? 
News, that a daughter cheats paternal 

rule, 
And weds a scoundrel to escape a 

fool ? — 
The news, indeed ! — Such matters are 

as old 
As sin and folly, rust and must and 

mould ! 



THE EDITOH'S SANCTUM. 

Scene, — a third story in a dismal 
court. 

Where weary printers just at eight re- 
sort ; 

A dingy door that with a rattle shuts ; 

Heaps of " exchanges," much adorned 
with " cuts ; " 

Pens, paste, and paper on the table 
strewed ; 

Books, to be read when they have been 
reviewed ; 

Pamphlets and tracts so very dull in- 
deed 

That only they who wrote them e'er 
will read ; 

Nine letters, touching themes of every 
sort, 

And one with money, — just a shilling 
short, — 



Lie scattered round upon a common 

level. 
Persons, — the Editor ; Enter, now, ths 

Devil : — 
" Please, Sir, since this 'ere article was 

wrote, 
There 's later news perhaps you 'd like 

to quote : 
The Eebels storming with prodigious 

force, 
' Sumter has fallen ! '" " Set it up, of 

course." 
" And, Sir, that murder 's done — 

there 's only left 
One larceny." " Pray don 't omit the 

theft." 
" And, Sir, about the mob — the mat- 
ter 's fat " — 
" The mob ? — that 's wrong — pray 

just distribute that." 
Exit the imp of Faust, and enter now 
A fierce subscriber with a scowling 

brow, 
"Sir, curse your paper! — send the 

thing to " — Well, 
The place he names were impolite to 

tell; 
Enough to know the hero of the Press 
Cries : " Thomas, change the gentle- 
man's address ! 
We '11 send the paper, if the post will 

let it, 
Where the subscriber will be sure to get 

it!" 

Who would not be an editor ? — To 

write 
The magic " we " of such enormous 

might ; 
To be so great beyond the common 

span 
It takes the plural to express the man ; 
And yet, alas, it happens oftentimes 
A unit serves to number all his dimes ! 
But don't despise him ; there may 

chance to be 
An earthquake lurking in his simple 

" we " ! 
In the close precints of a dusty room 
That owes few losses to the lazy 

broom. 
There sits the man ; you do not know 

his name. 
Brown, Jones, or Johnson, — it is all 

the same, — 
Scribbling away at what perchance may 

seem 
An idler's musing, or a dreamer's dream ; 



220 



THE ORIGIN OF LOVE. 



His pen runs rambling, like a straying 

steed ; 
The " we " he writes seems very " wee " 

indeed ; 
But mark the change ; behold the 

wondrous power 
Wrought by the Press in one eventful 

hour; 
To-night, 't is harmless as a maiden's 

rhymes ; 
To-morrow, thunder in the "London 

Times ! " 



The ministry dissolves that held for 

years ; 
Her Grace, the Duchess, is dissolved in 

tears ; 
The Rothschilds quail ; the church, the 

army, quakes ; 
The very kingdom to its centre shakes; 
The Corn Laws fall ; the price of bread 

comes down, — 
Thanks to the " we " of Johnson, Jones, 

or Brown ! 



TEAl^SLATIONS AWD PAEAPHEASES. 



THE ORIGIN OF LOVE. 

AN ALLEGORY FROM THE GREEK OF 
PLATO. 



When Beauty was born, a magnificent 
fete 
Was ordered to crown the auspicious 
event ; 
And to all the Olympians, little and 
great. 
And many besides, invitations were 
sent. 



In the various throng who attended the 
rout 
Was Plenty (of Prudence the favorite 
son), 
A rosy -cheeked god, who went strolling 
about 
In the garden of Jove, when the ban- 
quet was done. 



Here, falling asleep at the close of the 
day, 
Miss Poverty saw him, — a mendicant 
maid. 
Who chanced at the time to be passing 
that way, 
And entered the gai'den to follow her 
trade. 



How the damsel, at sight, fell in love 
with the youth. 
It is easy to guess; though I never 
could learn, 
As touching another more wonderful 
truth. 
How she managed to waken his love 
in return. 



But so it befell ; and the marriage came 
off 
In a manner not quite the conven- 
tional thing ; 
And Virtue will scold, and Propriety 
scoff 
When couples forget the connubial 
ring. 



The union occasioned no little surprise ; 
And gossip, of course, was exceeding- 
ly free 
With merry remark and sarcastic sur- 
mise 
As to " what in creation the offspring 
would be." 



But Time, the Expositor, settled the 
doubt 
To the perfect content of the people 
above ; 



THE TRAVELER AND THE STATUE. 



221 



One sunshiny morning the secret was 
ont ; 
The baby was born, and who was it 
but Love! 



As the urchin grew up, it was plain to 
be seen 
He shared all the traits both of mother 
and sire : 
A singular mixture of noble and mean ; 
A deal to regret, with as much to ad- 
mire. 



As the grandson of Prudence, the 
younlier displayed 
A turn for intrigue and a masterful 
mind ; 
While, as Poverty's son, he as clearly be- 
trayed 
A nature to fawning and begging in- 
clined. 



By his sire he is courtly, voluptuous, 
proud ; 
Abundant in hope and ambitious in 
aim. 
By his mother, submissive and easily 
cowed ; 
Suspicious, mendacious, and fearful of 
blame. 



THE TRAVELER AND THE 
STATUE. 

A DIALOGUE. 

From the Greek of Posidippus. 

SCENE. 

A MARKET-PLACE in Athcus, whcre are 

seen 
Statues of gods and goddesses, serene 
In marble majesty. Among the rest, 
A group wherein the sculptor has ex- 

prest 
Some tale, or moral homily, where these 
Symbolic shapes in stone the observer 

sees : 
A human figure resting on a wheel. 
With winged feet, Avhile flowing locks 

conceal 
The eyes ; and ypt (to make the gazer 

stare !) 



The head, behind, shows not a tuft of 

hair ! 
Hard by, observe, another figure 

stands, — 
A maid, who seems to weep and wring 

her hands. 
Enter a Traveler who, gazing, seeks 
The Statue's meaning. Thus, at length, 

he speaks : — 

TRAVELER. 

Tell me, Image ! by what sculptor's 

grace 
Of wondrous art thou standest in this 

place 1 



Of Phidias thou hast heard ; whose 

magic hand 
Can re-create tlie gods. See ! where 

they stand, 
Jove, Juno, and Minerva ! He alone 
Could place me here — a homily in 

stone — 
Among the immortals. Yet no god 

am I, 
Although I claim close kindred with the 

sky; 
My name, I hear, through all the world 

has flown ; 
As Opportunity to mortals I am known. 

TRAVELER. 

Tell me, Image ! what the wheel may 

mean. 
On which, as a support, thou seem'st to 

lean. 



The wheel thou seest, if thou dost 

rightly read 
The pregnant sign, denotes my rapid 

speed. 

TRAVELER. 

And on thy feet a pair of wings are 

wrought; 
Tell me of these the cunning sculptor's 

thought. 



From those my brief abiding thou may'st 

learn ; 
Neglected once, I nevermore return. 



222 



THE KING'S GOBLET, 



TRAVELER. 

And why those flowing locks that hide 
• thine eyes 1 

STATUE. 

Because I'm seldom seen save in disguise. 

TRAVELER. 

But wliy no hair behind"? — tell me, I 
pray ! 

STAT0E. 

That none may seize me as I flee away ! 

TRAVELER. 

And who is she behind, — so sad of mien ? 

STATUE. 

Repentance is her name ; still is she 

seen 
To follow him, the wretch, who weakly 

fails 
To seize me when the timely honr avails 
For noble action. Thus she serves to 

teach, 
" Be swift to seize the good within thy 

reach, 
Lest it be lost forever ! " Ask no more ! 
E'en while I speak, away — away I 

soar ! 



THE KING'S GOBLET. 

PARAPHRASED FROM THE GERMAN OF 
SCHILLER. 



" Ho ! every gallant knight and squire 
Attend ! " exclaimed the king ; 

" This Golden Goblet shall be his, 
Who from this rock will spring, 

And from the dark abyss below 
The cup to me will bring ! " 



And at the word, from where he stood 

Upon the rocky steep, 
He cast the Golden Goblet down 

Beneath the ocean deep ; 



Ear do^vn into the black abyss 
Where roaring eddies sweep. 



And thrice the king to all his men 

The proclamation made ; 
But all were mute : nor knight nor 
squire 

The fearful feat essayed ; 
To follow where the cup went down. 

The boldest were afraid. 



Now while in silence round the king 
They stood in grim array. 

Up came a page of handsome mien, 
A gallant youth and gay ; 

And straight he took his girdle off, 
And cast his cloak away. 



And while they praised his form and 
face, 

And marveled what he meant, 
Far out upon the dizzy cliff 

The gallant stripling went ; 
And there a long and steady gaze 

Into the deep he sent. 



A whispered prayer, and down he leaps 

From off the giddy height. 
Into the foaming flood below, 

Where all is black as night ! 
(A hundred shoiits went up to Heaven/ 

And he was lost to sight ! 



Then spake the bravest knight of all 
Who saw that fearful thing, 

" If thus your Gracious Majesty 
His jeweled crown should fling, 

Bardie ! I would not seek it there, 
To wear it as a king ! 



" Alas ! that one so young and fair 
Should find a watery grave ; 

In vain were mortal succor now 
The gallant boy to save ! " 

But see ! — an arm is gleaming forth 
Above the foaming wave ! 



'T is he ! see how his straining arms 

Obey his will's command ; 
One struggle more, — the boy is saved ! 

His foot is on the land ! 



THE GOLDSMITH'S DAUGHTER. 



223 



And now he bows before the king, 
The goblet in his hand ! 



" Here, daughter ! fill the cup with 
wine ! " 

The king exclaimed aloud ; 
Whereat a damsel, young and fair, 

In filial duty bowed ; 
And soon returned the brimming cup. 

Before the smiling crowd. 



" Long live your gracious Majesty ! 

He said, and drank the wine ; 
" And may no mortal ever dare 

A deed so dread as mine ; 
Nor brave the monsters that I saw 

Beneath the foamy brine ! 



" Ah, me ! to think of all I saw ; 

It fills me now with dread ! 
The horrid sharks and dragons huge 

That in the sea are bred ; 
And serpents vast that coil and crawl 

Within their slimy bed. 

XIII. 

" The goblet hung upon a crag 

Far down as I could dive ; 
I know not how I got me thence, 

Though fiercely I did strive ; 
But God is good, and heard my prayer, 

And here I stand alive ! " 



" The cup is thine ! " the monarch said ; 

" And thou hast earned it dear ; 
But, thou shalt have this costly ring, 

(A diamond large and clear !) 
To dive again, and further bring 

What thou shalt see and hear ! " 



" Nay, father ! " — thus the maiden 
spoke, — 

" This cruel play forbear ; 
And let some hardy knight of thine 

The page's honor share ; 
Already has the boy achieved 

What not a man did dare ! " 



'T was then the monarch seized the cup 

And threw it in the sea ; 
" Go ! fetch it up ! " he cried, " and 
thou 



A knight of mine shall be ; 
And tliis my daughter, weeping here, 
I '11 make her wife to thee ! " 



One glance upon the beauteous maid ; 

One look of inward pain ; 
One supplicating prayer to Heaven, 

And down he dives again, 
To follow where the goblet fell. 

Beneath the raging main ! 



Long — long they gaze with anxious 
looks ; 

In vain their eyes explore 
The dashing waves beneath the rock, 

Where sullen breakers roar ; 
Alack, alack, — he comes not back ! 

The boy is seen no more ! 



THE GOLDSMITH'S DAtJGHTER. 



PROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 



Up spoke the Goldsmith proudly 

Unto his daughter fair : 
" Ah ! here are pearls and diamonds. 

And rubies rich and rare ; 
But none with thee, my Helen, 

In beauty can compare ! " 



In came a knight so gayly, 
A youth of noble mien ; 

With " I would have a garland, 
The finest e'er was seen : 

Spare neither cost nor labor ; 
'T is for my bridal queen." 



The work is done ; and Helen 
Cried, " Lucky bride is she 

Who wears this splendid garland ! 
Ah ! would he give to me 

A simple wreath of roses, 
How happy I should be ! " 



"'T is well," the knight made answer, 
When he the wreath had seen ; 

"Now make a ring with diamonds, 
And of the purest sheen : 



224 



THE GOOD DOG OF BRETTE. 



Spare neither cost nor labor ; 
'T is for my bridal queen." 



The work is done ; and Helen 
Cried, " Lucky bride is she 

Who wears this blazing circlet ! 
Ah ! would he give to me 

One of his golden tresses, 
How happy I should be ! " 



'"T is well," the knight made answer : 
Then to the maid he cried, 

" I fain would have these jewels 
On thee, a moment, tried ; 

That I may judge the surer 
If they become my bride." 



And soon her blushing forehead 
Was with the garland graced ; 

And then upon her finger 
The knight, in loving haste, 

The ring of gold and diamonds 
In merry triumph placed. 



" Ah ! Helen, dearest Helen ! " 
The happy lover cried ; 

"For thee they were intended, 
My darling and m.j pride ! 

And by these jeT\^eled tokens 
I take thee for my bride ! " 



THE GOOD DOG OF BRETTE. 



A GERMAN LEGEND. 



Shoulb you e'er go to Brette, be sure 
you don't fail 
To look at the dog on the old city 
gate; 
A poodle in marble, with never a 
tail 
Save the piteous one which the people 
relate 
Of a dog who was wont, in the cleverest 
way, 
To carry a basket whereon you might 
find, 
In capital letters as plain as the day. 
This plaintive petition, " Eemember 
the Blind ! " 



And thus through the city he went, it is 
said. 
Soliciting food that his owner might 
live ; 
And never himself, till his master was 
fed, 
Touched a morsel of aught that the 
peojjle might give ; 
Such a good little dog, of such talents 
possessed, 
In Brette, be sure, had an excellent 
name ; 
And every one hastened to honor his 
quest, 
And treat him with kindness, wher- 
ever he came. 



But once, on a Friday ('t is ever, they 
say, 
A day when misfortune is aptest to 
fall), 
As the dog went his round, in the usual 
way, 
He came to a butcher who mocked at 
his call : 
" What ! flesh on a fast day ! — you 
heathenish cur ! 
Egad ! you shall have it ! — a nice bit 
of meat ! " 
And, cutting his tail off, cried, " Off with 
you, sir ! 
Take that, if you please, for your mas- 
ter to eat ! " 



He went to his home, and his basket set 
down ; 
So stricken with grief, and so hurt in 
his pride. 
That he never again showed his face in 
the. town. 
But, moaning in misery, sickened and 
died. 
And all through the city the story was 
told 
Of the beggar lamenting the loss of 
his mate ; 
And all through the city the young and 
the old — 
Men, women, and children — lament- 
ed his fate. 



MY BALD HEAD. 



225 



And now you may see, on the old city 
gate, 
His effigy standing in marble to- 
day; 
Whereof the good people to strangers 
relate 
The piteous story I Ve told in my 
lay; 
And the origin, hence, you will readily 
learn 
Of the saying, repeated in country and 
city, 
When kindness receives an ungrateful 
return, 
" He fares — the poor man ! — like the 
poodle of Brette ! " 



THIETEEN AT TABLE. 



BERANGEK. 



I SPILT the salt, one day, — and, worse, 
" Thirteen at table ! Sure, some curse 
Is in the omens ! Such the way 
That Death gives warning, — so they 

say." 
Scarce had I spoken, when a sprite. 
Young, handsome, joyous, met my 

sight ; 
Whereat I cried, " Eriends ! be of 

cheer ! 
I 've looked on Death, and do not 

fear ! " 



A gay, invited guest she seemed ; 
With fairest flowers her forehead 

gleamed ; 
A rainbow arched her head around ; 
A broken chain was on the ground ; 
And, sweetly nestling on her breast, 
A sleeping baby lay at rest. 

Eill up, my "friends ! — No danger's 

near ; 
I 've looked on Death, and do not 

fear ! 



" Why tremble ? " said the spirit, — 

" why "? 
Sister of Hope, Heaven's daughter I ! 
From weary necks I lift the yoke ; 
I touch the slave, — his chain is broke ; 
15 



To man — fallen angel — I restore 
The seraph wings he had of yore ! " 
" maid ! " I cried, " thou 'rt wel- 
come here ! 
I 've looked on Death, and do not 
fear ! " 



" By me released from carnal thrall, 
The soul, beyond this earthly ball. 
Shall range in yonder azure clime. 
In spacious fields and paths sublime ; 
But here, oppressed by fleshly woes. 
Ah ! little joy the spirit knows ! " 

A bumper to that higher sphere ! 

I 've looked on Death, and do not 
fear ! 



Alas ! although I bid her stay, 
The lovely vision flies away ; 
In vain we mortals wish to shun 
The rest that waits our journey done ; 
Life is a ship, mere sailors we ; 
And tide and wind are fair and free. 

Thirteen ! Who cares 1 ■ God's smile 
is here ; 

I 've looked on Death, and do not 
fear! 



MY BALD HEAD, 

(3fes cheveux.) 



BEKANGEE. 



Good friends, pray listen, if you please, 

To Pleasure's licensed preacher ; 
Hold fast to Liberty and Ease ; 

So says your reverend teacher. 
To laugh at Care, be gay and free. 

The precepts I advise : 
I 'm bald because I 'm sage, you see ; 

So listen to the wise ! 



Good friends, when Care assails a man. 

To vex his soul and body, 
I think it much the wisest plan 

To drown it — in a toddy ! 
Nay, not too much ! — the glass should 
be 

Of very dainty size : 
I 'm bald because I 'm sage, you see ; 

So listen to the wise ! 



226 



MUCH LOVE. 



Good friends, these hints will stand the 
test. 

And should n't be neglected ; 
But what 'a the good of all the rest, 

If Beauty is rejected ? 
Young Love, true Love, must ever be 

The richest earthly prize : 
I 'm bald because I 'm sage, you see; 

So listen to the wise ! 



Good friends, believe me, only so 

We save Life's truest treasures ; 
By just condensing, as they flow. 

Youth's evanescent pleasures. 
My sermon 's done ; who lists to me 

The power of Fate defies : 
I 'm bald because I 'ra sage, you see ; 

So listen to the wise ! 



GIRLS! PASS ALONG! 
{Passes, jeunes filles.) 



BBRANGER. 



Bless me ! what a rosy row 

Of girls at me their glances throw, 

As they gayly come and go, 

The light coquettish throng ! 
Can't the darlings hear me say, 
" I have had my youthful day ; 
Now I put such things away " 1 

Girls ! pass along ! 



Ah, my Zoe ! pray desist ! 
Sooth, I care not to be kissed; 
Ask your mother if I list 

To Cupid's siren song. 
She — but that is entre nous — 
Knows what Love and I can do ; 
Her advice you 'd best pursue, — 

Girls ! jjass along ! 



Laura ! you would hardly guess 
How your grandam used to press 
Lips of mine — well — I confess — 

We did n't think it Avrong ; 
Jvook ! she 's coming ! Tempt me not 
In gay saloon or shady grot ; 



A jealous eye the dame has got, — 
Girls I pass along ! 



You smiling too I you naughty Rose ! 
I wonder, now, if you suppose 
I 'm not aware what sort of beaux 

Around your beauty throng ? 
I know the husband-hunting crew. 
And all the pretty tricks' tliey do ; 
I 'm old, — but much too young for you ! 

Girls ! pass along ! 



Away, away ! you madcaps ! — fly ! 
Your roguish arts why iv ill you try 
To bind a graybeard — such as I — 

With Cupid's slender thong 1 
Yet, like a powder magazine, 
My heart from flying sparks I screen, 
The sparks that shoot from wanton 
een — 

Girls ! pass along ! 



MUCH LOVE 

{Beaucoup d^ Amour.) 

BEKANGER. 



I KNOW by sages we are told 

To reckon riches vile ; 
I 'm not a sage, and so of gold 

I 'd like a pretty pile. 

It is not avarice ; Oh no ! 

For Sophie's sake I 'd have it so : 

Oh, 't is, be sure, 

Beaucoup d' amour ; 

Only love, — much love ! 



And I would be a bard divine, 

Her praises to prolong ; 
And link my Sophie's name with mine, 

In never-dying song ; 
Yet if I thus as])ire to claim 
The poet's laurel wreath of fame, 
Oh, 't is, be sure, 
Beaucoup d'amour ; 
Only love, — much love ! 



And I would be a sceptred king, 
That Sophie might be seen 



THE PEWE OF BEAUTY. 



227 



With all that royalty could brine 

To grace my darling queen. 
Ambition ? No ; for lier alone 
I 'd wish to sit upon a throne : 

Oh, 't is, be sure, 

Beaucoup d'amour ; 
Only love, — much love ! 



Yet why, Oh why, would I possess 

These shining gifts of Fate ? 
Tor love has more of happiness 
Than fortune, fame, or state : 
So let them go ; I '11 not repine ; 
The sweetest treasure still is mine : 
Oh, 't is, be sure, 
Beaucoup d'amour; 
Only love, — much love ! 



THE PUPPETS. 



BERANGER. 



Opr life is but a puppet show ; 

Men, mere mechanic factors; 
And rich and poor, and high and low. 

Involuntary actors. 
Clowns, courtiers, statesmen, serfs, and 
kings, 

The wicked and the pious, — 
We all are worked by secret springs, 

And move as others ply us. 



And yet, vain man \ he deems his 
course 

Is by himself decided ; 
Because he cannot see the force 

By which his mind is guided. 
But soon or later he will see 

That, like his wooden brothers. 
He 's ever been, and still must be, 

A puppet, ruled by others. 



Just mark the maid of seventeen, 

When first the gentle dreamer, 
Unconscious what the mood may 
mean, 

Feels love's delicious tremor, — 
What secret power, unknown before, 

Can thus so sweetly sway her 1 
She 's but a puppet, nothing more, — 

And Cupid is the player ! 



Observe yon alderman so grand. 

How shrewdly and how neatly 
His wife (the young coquette!) has 
planned 

To rule the man completely ! 
Perhaps a spark of jealous fire 

Within the puppet lingers, 
I only know the moving wire 

Is held in madam's fingers ! 



And so it is with all mankind. 

The womankind befool us ; 
We 're merely puppets, deaf and blind. 

And hers the art to rule us ; 
We laugh and cry and work and play 

According to her fancies ; 
Whate'er the lady's whim may say, 

Just so the puppet dances ! 



THE PRIDE OF BEAUTY. 

BERANGER. 

A GALLANT youth, whose lady-love pos- 
sessed . 
The rarest charms to fire the manly 

breast, 
Was s.o enamored of the beauteous maid, 
That to the powers above — below — he 

prayed, 
Right fervently, to make her beauty 

less ; 
Nay, turn it, if they would, to ugliness ; 
That so it might be shown his constant 

flame. 
Despite the change, would glow for her 

the same. 
This strange request no sooner Satan 

heard. 
Than, quick as thought, he took him at 

his word. 
And, by such arts as only Satan knows. 
The deed was done ! — away her beauty 

goes ! 
And now before her mirror see her 

stand. 
No more "the fairest lady in the land," 
But such a Hecate, such a very fright. 
She shrieked aloud, and shuddered at 

the sight. 
And Satan laughed ! But still the lover 

swore 
In very sooth he loved her as before ! 



228 



THE HEN AND THE HONEY-BEE. 



" O faithful soul ! " she said ; but little 
less 

The woman mourned her vanished love- 
liness. 

" My beauty gone ! " the weeping dam- 
sel cried ; 

" To come to this ! Ah, would that I 
had died ! " 
In short, she wept at such a frantic 
rate, 

The very Fiend took pity on her fate, 

And soon was fain her beauty to restore. 

And now heboid her at her glass once 
more. 

Handsome as Helen when, with radiant 
charms, 

She summoned Paris to her waiting 
arms : 

More beautiful, indeed, than in the 
hour 

She knew the demon's disenchanting 
power ; 

For, while the Fiend called back her for- 
mer face, 

He slyh'' added many a winning grace. 

" And now," she said, " I 'm sure you 
love me more. 

Ay, twice as much as e'er you did be- 
fore." 

" Nay," said the lover, " as I loved no 
less 

When once I saw your beauty in dis- 
tress, — 

No more, my sweet, this added grace 
may claim 

Than my whole heart, — I love you but 
the same ! " 
" Adieu ! " she said ; " to me 't is very 
clear 

Heaven sends us beauty but to make us 
dear ; 

And well I see my love were thrown 
away 

Oh one so dull that he can coolly say, 

' Who cares — not I ! — how beautiful 
you be ? 

Handsome or homely, all is one to me ! ' " 



LITTLE PETEE THE POETER. 

DE PERTHES. 

O, I AM Little Peter, 

Of faubourg La Pucelle ; 

A carrier of water. 
And messenger, as well ; 



To gain an honest living 

I 've got a clever head ; 
I seldom fill my pocket. 

But then I get my bread ! 

I have no land nor servants ; 

All equipage I lack ; 
These legs, they are my horses ; 

My funds are on my back. 
I take the good that 's going, 

Quite certain to be fed ; 
God wills us all a living. 

And so I get my bread ! 

Before some stately building 

I place my little stand ; 
No Swiss you need to parley, 

The master is at hand. 
Up early in the morning. 

And late at night to bed, 
I call the day a good one 

In which I get my bread ! 

There goes a man of millions, 

But what is that to me ? 
Who knows but Little Peter 

Is happier than he 1 
The rich man has his troubles, 

I often hear it said; 
He can but eat his mutton, 

And I — I get my bread ! 

I 've heard my worthy uncle, 

Before his sad decease, 
Declare no man is wretched 

Whose stomach is at peace ; 
And should these fine days vanish, 

And dark ones come instead. 
The neighbors love poor Peter, 

And I shall get my bread ! 



THE HEN AND THE HONEY- 
BEE. 

FROM THE GERMAN OP GELLET. 

A LAZT Hen, — the story g<»es, — 
Loquacious, pert, and self-conceited. 

Espied a Eee upon a rose, 
And thus the busy insect greeted : 

" Say, what 's the use of such as you, 
(Excuse the freedom of a neigh- 
bor 1) 

Who gad about, and never do 
A single act of useful labor ? 



ICARUS. 



229 



" I 've marked you well for many a 
day, 

In garden blooms and meadow-clover ; 
Now here, now there, in wanton play; 

From morn to night an idle rover. 

" While I discreetly bide at home, 
A faithful wife, the best of mothers, 

Abont the fields you iilly roam, 

Without the least regard for others. 

" While I lay eggs, or hatch them out, 
You seek the flowers most sweet and 
fragrant, 

And, sipping honey, stroll about, 

At best a good-for-nothing vagrant ! " 

" Nay," said the Bee, " you do me 
wrong ; 
I 'm useful too ; perhaps you doubt 
it, 
Because — though toiling all day long — 
I scorn to make a fuss about it ! 



" While you, with every egg that cheers 
Your daily task, must stop and ham- 
mer 
The news in other people's ears. 

Till they are deafened with the 
clamor ; 

" Come now with me, and see my hive. 
And note how folks may work in 
quiet ; 
To useful arts much more alive 

Than you with all your cackling 
riot ! " 



The Poet, one may plainly see 

Who reads this fable at his leisure, 
Is reprfiSfiiLted by the Bee, 

Who joins utility to pleasure ; 
While in this self-conceited Hen 

We note the Poet's silly neighbor, 
Who thinks the noisy " working-men " 

Are doing all the useful labor ! 



TEAYESTIES. 



ICAEUS. 



All modern themes of poesy are spun 

so very fine. 
That now the most amusing muse, 

e gratia, such as mine, 
Is often forced to cut the thread that 

strings our recent rhymes, 
And try the stronger staple of the good 

old classic times. 



There lived and flourished long ago, in 
famous Athens town, 

One DcBdalus, a carpenter of genius and 
renown ; 

('T was he who with an auger taught 
mechanics how to bore, — 

An art which the philosophers monopo- 
lized before.) 



His only son was Icarus, a most pre- 
cocious lad, 



The pride of Mrs. Dasdalus, the image 

of his dad ; 
And while he yet was in his teens such 

progress he had made. 
He 'd got above his father's size, and 

much above his trade. 



Now Dcedalus, the carpenter, had made 
a pair of wings. 

Contrived of wood and feathers and a 
cunning set of springs. 

By means of which the wearer could as- 
cend to any height. 

And sail abont among the clouds as easy 
as a kite ! 



" father," said young Icarus, " how I 

should like to fly ! 
And go like you where all is blue along 

the upper sky ; 
How very charming it would be above 

the moon to climb, 
And scamper through the Zodiac, and 

have a high old time ! 



230 



PYRAMUS AND TBI SEE. 



" Oh would n't it be jolly, though, — to 

stop at all the inns ; 
To take a luncheon at ' The Crab,' and 

tipple at ' The Twins ; ' 
And, just for fun and fancy, while 

careering through the air, 
To kiss the Virgin, tease the Ram, and 

bait the biggest Eea?' 1 



" O father, please to let me go ! " was 

still the urchin's cry ; 
" I '11 be extremely careful, sir, and 

won't go very high ; 
Oh if this little pleasure-trip you only 

will allow, 
I promise to be back again in time to 

fetch the cow ! " 



" You 're rather young," said Dsedalus, 
" to tempt the upper air ; 

But take the wings, and mind your eye 
with very special care ; 

And keep at least a thousand miles be- 
low the nearest star 

Young lads, when out upon a lark, are 
apt to go too far ! " 



He took the wings — that foolish boy — 

without the least dismay ; 
His father stuck 'em on with wax, and 

so he soared away ; 
Up, up he rises, like a bird, aud not a 

moment stops 
Until he's fairly out of sight beyond the 

mountain-tops ! 



And still he flies — away — away ; it 
seems the merest fun ; 

No marvel he is getting bold, and aim- 
ing at the sun ; 

No marvel he forgets his sire; it is n't 
very odd 

That one so far above the earth should 
think himself a god ! 



Already, in his silly pride, he 's gone too 

far aloft ; 
The hea,t begins to scorch his wings ; 

the wax is waxing soft ; 
Down — down he goes ! — Alas ! — next 

day poor Icarus was found 



Afloat upon the iEgean Sea, extremely 
damp and drowned ! 



The moral of this mournful tale is plain 

enough to all : — 
Don't get above your proper sphere, or 

you may chance to fall ; 
Remember, too, that borrowed plumes 

are most uncertain things ; 
And never try to scale the sky with 

other people's wings ! 



PYRAMUS AND THISBE. 

This tragical tale, which, they say, is a 
true one. 

Is old, but the manner is wholly a new- 
one. 

One Ovid, a writer of some reputation. 

Has told it before in a tedious narra- 
tion ; 

In a style, to be sure, of remarkable full- 
ness. 

But which nobody reads on account of 
its dullness. 

Young Peter Pyramus, /call him Peter, 
Not for the sake of the rhyme or me- 
tre. 
But merely to make the name com- 
pleter, — 
For Peter lived in the olden times, 
And in one of the worst of Pagan climes 
That flourish now in classical fame, 
Long before 
Either noble or boor 
Had such a thing as a Christian name, — 
Young Peter then was a nice young 

beau 
As any young lady would wish to 
know ; 
In years, I ween. 
He was rather green, 
That is to say, he was just eighteen, — 
A trifle too short, and a shaving too 

lean. 
But " a nice young man " as ever was 

seen, 
And fit to dance with a May-day queen ! 

Now Peter loved a beautiful girl 
As ever ensnared the heart of an earl 
In the magical trap of an auburn 
curl, — 



PYRAMUS AND THISBE. 



231 



A little Miss Thisbe who lived next 

door 
(They slept in fact on the very same 

floor, 
With a wall between them, and nothing 

more, 
Those double dwellings were common 

of yore). 
And they loved each other, the legends 

say, 
In that very beautiful, bountiful way 
That every young maid, 
And every young blade, 
Are wont to do before they grow staid 
And learn to love by the la^vs of trade. 
But alack-a-day for the girl and boy, 
A little impediment checked their 

joy, 

And gave them, awhile, the deepest 

annoy. 
For some good reason, which history 

cloaks. 
The match did n't happen to please the 

old folks ! 

So Thisbe's father and Peter's mother 
Began the young couple to worry and 

bother. 
And tried their innocent passions to 

smother 
By keeping the lovers from seeing each 
other ! 
But whoever heard 
Of a marriage deterred, 
Or even deferred, 
By any contrivance so very absurd 
As scolding the boy, and caging his 
bird ? 

Now Peter, who was n't discouraged at 

all 
By obstacles such as the timid appall, 
Contrived to discover a hole in the 

wall, 
Which was n't so thick 
But removing a brick 
Made a passage, — though rather pro- 

vokingly small. 
Through this little chink the lover could 

greet her. 
And secrecy made their courting the 

sweeter, 
While Peter kissed Thisbe and Thisbe 

kissed Peter, — 
For kisses, like folks with diminutive 

soiils, 
Will manage to creep through the 

smallest of holes ! 



'T was here that the lovers, intent upon 
love, 
Laid a nice little plot 
To meet at a spot 
Near a mulberry -tree in a neighboring 
grove ; 
For the plan was all laid 
By the youth and the maid 
(Whose hearts, it would seem, were un- 
commonly bold ones). 
To run off and get married in spite of 
the old ones. 

In the shadows of evening, as still as a 

mouse, 
The beautiful maiden slipt out of the 

house. 
The mulberry -tree impatient to find, 
While Peter, the vigilant matrons to 

blind, 
Strolled leisurely out some minutes be- 
hind. 
While waiting alone by the trysting 

tree, 
A terrible lion 
As e'er you set eye on 
Came roaring along quite horrid to 

see, 
And caused the young maiden in terror 

to flee 
(A lion 's a creature whose regular 

trade is 
Blood, — and " a terrible thing among 

ladies"). 
And losing her veil as she ran from the 

wood. 
The monster bedabbled it over with 

blood. 

Now Peter arriving, and seeing the veil 
All covered o'er 
And reeking with gore. 
Turned all of a sudden exceedingly 

pale. 
And sat himself down to weep and to 

wail, — 
For, soon as he saw the garment, poor 

Peter 
Made up in his mind, in very short 

metre. 
That Thisbe was dead, and the lion had 
eat her ! 
So breathing a prayer. 
He determined to share 
The fate of his darling, " the loved and 

the lost," 
And fell on his dagger, and gave up the 
ghost ! 



232 



THE CHOICE OF KING MIDAS. 



Now Thisbe returning, and viewing her 
beau, 

Lying dead by the veil (which she hap- 
pened to linoAv), 

She guessed, in a moment, the cause of 
his erring, 
And seizing the knife 
Which had taken Iris life, 

In less than a jifFy was dead as a her- 
ring ! 



Young gentlemen ! pray recollect, if you 
please, 

Not to make assignations near mulberry- 
trees ; 

Should your mistress be missing, it 
shows a weak head 

To be stabbhig yourself till you know 
she is dead. 

Young ladies ! you should n't go stroll- 
ing about 

When your anxious mammas don't 
know you are out. 

And remember that accidents often be- 
fall _ 

From kissing young fellows through 
holes in the wall. 



THE CHOICE OF KING MIDAS. 

King Midas, prince of Phrygia, several 

thousand years ago, 
Was a very worthy monarch, as the 

classic annals shoAv ; 
You may read 'em at your leisure, when 

you have a mind to doze, 
In the finest Latin verses, or in choice 

Hellenic prose. 

Now this notable old monarch, King of 

Phrygia, as aforesaid 
(Of whose royal state and character 

there might be vastly more said). 
Though he occupied a palace, kept a 

very open door, 
And had still a ready welcome for the 

stranger and the poor. 

Now it chanced that old Silenus, who, 
it seems, had lost his way. 

Following Bacchus through the forest, 
in the pleasant mouth of May 



(Which was n't very singular, for at the 

present day 
The followers of Bacchus very often go 

astray). 

Came at last to good King Midas, who 
received him in his court, 

Gave him comfortable lodgings, and — 
to cut the matter short — 

With as much consideration treated. 
weary old Silenus, 

As if the entertainment were for Mer- 
cury or Venus. 

Now when Bacchus heard the story, he 

proceeded to the king. 
And says he : " By old Silenus you have 

done the handsome thing ; 
He 's my much-respected tutor, who has 

taught me how to read. 
And I 'm sure your royal kindness 

should receive its proper meed ; 

" So I grant you full permission to se- 
lect your own reward. 

Choose a gift to suit your fancy, — 
something worthy of a lord ! " 

" Bully Bacche ! " cried the monarch, 
" if I do not make too bold, 

Let whatever I may handle be trans- 
muted into gold ! " 

Midas, sitting down to dinner, sees the 

answer to his wish. 
For the turbot on the platter turns into 

a golden fish ! 
And the bread between his fingers is no 

longer wheaten bread. 
But the slice he tries to swallow is a 

wedge of gold instead } 

And the roast he takes for mutton fills 
his mouth with golden meat, 

Very tempting to the vision, but ex- 
tremely hard to eat ; 

And the liquor in his goblet, very rar^, 
select, and old, 

Down the monarch's thirsty throttle 
runs a stream of liquid gold ! 

Quite disgusted with his dining, he be- 
takes hira to his bed ; 

But, alas ! the golden pillow does n't 
rest his weary head 

Nor does all the gold around him soothe 
the monarch's tender skin ; 

Golden sheets, to sleepy mortals, might 
as well be sheets of tin. 



PHAETHON. 



233 



Now poor Midas, straight repenting of 

his rash and foolish choice, 
Went to Bacchus, and assured him, in a 

very plaintive voice. 
That his golden gift was working in a 

manner most unpleasant, — 
And the god, in sheer compassion, took 

away the fatal preseat. 



By this mythologic story we are very 

plainly told. 
That, though gold may have its uses, 

tliere are better things than gold; 
That a man may sell his freedom to 

procure the shining pelf ; 
And that Avarice, though it prosper, 

still contrives to cheat itself. 



j/ 



PHAETHON ; 

OR, THE AMATEUR COACHMAN. 



Dan Phaethon — so the histories 
run — 

Was a jolly young chap, and a son of 
the Sun, — 

Or rather of Phoebus : but as to his 
mother. 

Genealogists make a deuce of a' pother, 

Some going for one, and some for 
another. 

For myself, I must say, as a careful ex- 
plorer. 

This roaring young blade was the son 
of Aurora ! 

Now old Father Phoebus, ere railways 

begua 
To elevate funds and depreciate fun, 
Drove a verv fast coach by the name of 

" The Sun ; " 
Running, they say, 
Trips every day 
(On Sundays and all, in a heathenish 

way). 
All lighted up with a famous array 
Of lanterns that shone with a brilliant 

display, 
And dashing along like a gentleman's 

" shay," 
With never a fare, and nothing to pay ! 
Now Phaethon begged of his doting old 

father 
To grant him a favor, and this the 

rather. 



Since some one had hinted, the youth to 

annoy. 
That he was n't by any means Phoebus's 

boy! 
Intending, the rascally son of a gun, 
To darken the brow of the son of the 

Sun ! 
" By tke terrible Styx ! " said the angry 

sire, 
While his eyes flashed volumes of fury 

and fire, 
" To prove your reviler an infamous 

liar, 
I swear I will grant you whate'er you 
desire ! " 
" Then by my head," 
The youngster said, 
" I '11 mount the coach when the horses 

are fed ! — 
For there 's nothing I 'd choose, as I 'm 

alive, ' 

Like a seat on the box, and a dashing 
drive ! " 
"Nay, Phaethon, don't, — 
I beg you won't, — 
Just stop a moment and think upon 't ! " 
" You 're quite too young," continued 

the sage, 
" To tend a coach at your tender age ! 
Besides, you see, 
'T will really be 
Your first appearance on any stage ! 
Desist, my child, 
The cattle are wild. 
And when their mettle is thoroughly 

' riled,' 
Depend upon 't the coach '11 be 

' spiled,' — 
They 're not the fellows to draw it mild ! 
Desist, I say, 
You '11 rue the day, — 
So mind, and don't be foolish, Pha ! " 
But the youth was proud. 
And swore aloud, 
'Twas just the thing to astonish the 

crowd, — 
He 'd have the horses and would n't be 

cowed ! 
In vain the boy was cautioned at large. 
He called for the chargers, unheeding 

the charge, 
And vowed that any young fellow of ■ 

force 
Could manage a dozen coursers, of 

course ! 
Now Phoebus felt exceedingly sorry 
He had given his word in such a hurry, 
But having sworn by the Styx, no doubt 



234 



POLYPHEMUS AND ULYSSES. 



He was in for it now, and could n't back 

out. 
So calling Phaethon up in a trice, 
He gave the youth a bit of advice : — 

" Parce stimidis, utere loris ! 
(A ' stage direction,' of which the core 

is. 
Don't use the whip, — they 're ticklish 

things, — 
But, whatever you do, hold on to the 

strings !) 
Kemember the rule of the Jehu-tribe is. 

Medio tutissimiis ibis, 
As the Judge remarked to a rowdy 

Scotchman, 
Who was going to quod between two 

watchmen ! 
So mind your eye, and spare your 

goad. 
Be shy of the stones, and keep in the 

road?" 

Now Phaethon, perched in the coach- 
man's place, 
Drove off the steeds at a furious pace. 
Fast as coursers running a race. 
Or bounding along in a steeple-chase ! 
Of whip and shout there was no lack, 

" Crack — whack — 

Whack — crack," 
Resounded along the horses' back ! 
Frightened beneath the stinging lash, 
Cutting their flanks in many a gash, 
On, on they sped as swift as a flash, 
Through thick and thin away they 

dash, 
(Such rapid driving is always rash !) 
When all at once, with a dreadful 

crash, 
The whole "establishment" went to 
smash ! 

And Phaethon, he. 

As all agree. 
Off the coach was suddenly hurled. 
Into a puddle, and out of the world ! 



Don't rashly take to dangerous 

courses, — 
Nor set it down in your table of forces, 
That any one man equals any four 
horses ! 

Don't swear by the Styx ! — 

It 's one of Old Nick's 

Diabolical tricks 
To get people into a regular " fix," 
And hold 'em there as fast as bricks ! 



POLYPHEMUS AND ULYSSES. 

A VERY remarkable history this is 

Of one Polyphemus and Captain Ulys- 
ses : 

The latter a hero, accomplished and 
bold, 

The former a knave, and a fright to be-, 
hold, — 

A horrid big giant who lived in a den. 

And dined every day on a- couple of 
men, 

Ate a woman for breakfast, and (dread- 
ful to see!) 

Had a nice little baby served up with 
his tea; 

Indeed, if there 's truth in the sprightly 
narration 

Of Homer, a poet of some reputation. 

Or Virgil, a writer but little inferior. 

And in some things, perhaps, the other's 
superior, — 

Polyphemus was truly a terrible crea- 
ture, 

In manners and morals, in form and in 
feature ; 

For law and religion he cared not a cop- 
per. 

And, in short, led a life that was very 
improper : — 

What made him a very remarkable 
guy. 

Like the late Mr. Thompson, he 'd only 
one eye ; 

But that was a whopper, — a terrible 
one, — 

" As large " (Virgil says) " as the disk 
of the sun ; " 

A brilliant, but rather extravagant fig- 
ure. 

Which means, I suppose, that his eye 
was much bigger 

Than yours, — or even the orb of your 
sly 

Old bachelor-friend who's "a wife in 
his eye." 

Ulysses, the hero I mentioned before. 

Was shipwrecked, one day, on the pes- 
tilent shore 

Where the Cyclops resided, along with 
their chief, 

Polyphemus, the terrible man-eating 
thief. 

Whose manners they copied, and laws 
they obeyed. 

While driving their horrible cannibal 
trade. 



POLYPHEMUS AND ULYSSES. 



235 



With many expressions of civil regret 
That Ulysses had got so unpleasantly 

wet, 
With many expressions of pleasure pro- 

fouud 
That all had escaped heing thoroughly 

drowned. 
The rascal declared he was " fond of 

the brave," 
And invited the strangers all home to 

his cave. 

Here the cannibal king, with as little 

remorse 
As an omnibus feels for the death of a 

horse, 
Seized, crushed, and devoured a brace 

of the Greeks, 
As a Welshman would swallow a couple 

of leeks. 
Or a Erenchman, supplied with his us- 
ual prog, 
Would punish the hams of a favorite 

frog. 
Dashed and smashed against the stones. 
He broke their bodies and cracked their 

bones. 
Minding no more their moans and 

groans 
Thau the grinder heeds his organ's 

tones ! 
With purple gore the pavement swims, 
While tlie giant crushes their crackling 

limbs. 
And poor Ulysses trembles with fright 
At the horrid sound, and the horrid 

sight, — 
Trembles lest the monster grim 
Sliould make his " nuts and raisins " of 

him ! 
And, really, since 
The man was a Prince, 
It 's not very odd that his Highness 

should wince 
(Especially after such very strong 

hints). 
At the cannibal's manner, as rather 

more free 
Than his Highness at court was accus- 
tomed to see ! 
But the crafty Greek, to the tyrant's 

hurt 
(Though he did n't deserve so fine a 

dessert). 
Took a dozen of wine from his leather 

trunk, 
And plied the giant until lie was 

drunk ! — 



Drunker than any one you or I know, 
Who buys his " Rhenish " with ready 

rhino, — 
Exceedingly drunk, — Sepultus vino! 

Gazing a moment upon the sleeper, 
Ulysses cried : " Let 's spoil his peep- 
er ! — 
'T will put him, my boys, in a pretty 

trim. 
If we can manage to douse his glim ! " 
So, taking a spar that was lying in 

sigiit. 
They poked it into his " forward light," 
And gouged away with furious spite, 
Hamming and jamming with all their 
might ! 

In vain the giant began to roar, 
And even swore 
That he never before 
Had met, in his life, such a terrible 

bore. 
They only plied the auger the more. 
And mocked his grief with a bantering 

cry, 
"Don 't babble of pain, — It's all in your 

eye .' " 
Until, alas for the wretched Cyclops ! 
He gives a groan, and out his eye 

pops! 
Leaving the knave, one need n't be 

told. 
As blind as a puppy of three days old. 

The rest of the tale I can't tell now, — 
Except that Ulysses got out of the 

row. 
With the rest of his crew, — it 's no 

matter how ; 
While old Polyphemus, until he was 

dead, — 
Which was n't till many years after, 't is 

said, — 
Had a grief in his heart and a hole in 

his head ! 



Don 't use strong drink, — jjray let me 
advise, — 

It 's bad for the stomach, and ruins the 
eyes ; 

Don 't impose upon sailors with land- 
lubber tricks. 

Or you '11 catch it some day like a thou- 
sand of bricks ! 



236 



ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 



ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE. 

Sir Orpheus, whom the poets have 

sung 
In every metre and every tongue, 
Was, you may remember, a famous 

musician, — 
At least, for a youth in his pagan con- 
dition, — 
For historians tell he played on his shell 
From morning till night, so remarkably 

M-ell 
That his music created a regular spell 
On trees and stones in forest and dell ! 
What sort of an insrrument his could be 
Is really more than is known to me, — 
For none of the books have told, d' ye 

see ! 
It 's very certain those heathen " swells " 
Knew nothing at all of oyster-shells. 
And it 's clear Sir Orpheus never could 

own a 
Shell like those they make in Cremona ; 
But whatever it was, to " move the 

stones" 
It must have shelled out some powerful 

tones, 
And entitled the player to rank in my 

rhyme 
As the very Vieuxtemps of the very old 

time ! 

But alas for the joys of this mutable 
life! 
Sir Orpheus lost his beautiful wife, — 
Eurydice, — who vanished one day 
From Earth, in a very unpleasant way ! 
It chanced, as near as I can determine, 
Througli one of those vertebrated ver- 
min 
That lie in the grass so prettily curled, 
Waiting to " snake " you out of the 

world ! 
And the poets tell she went to — well — 
A place where Greeks and Romans 

dwell 
After they burst their mortal shell ; 
A region that in the deepest shade is, 
And known by the classical name of 

Hades, — 
A different place from the terrible fur- 
nace 
Of Tartarus, down below Avernus. 

Now, having a heart uncommonly 
stout. 
Sir Orpheus did n't go whining about. 



Nor marry another, as you would, no 

doubt. 
But made up his mind to fiddle her out ! 
But near the gate he had to wait. 
For there in state old Cerberus sate. 
A three-headed dog, as cruel as Fate, 
Guarding the entrance early and late ; 
A beast so sagacious and very voracious, 
So uncommonly sharp and extremely 

rapacious. 
That it really may be doubted whether 
He 'd have liis match, should a common 

tether 
Unite three aldermen's heads together ! 

But Orpheus, not in the least afraid. 
Tuned up his shell, and (juickly essayed 
What could be done with a serenade ; 
In short, so charming an air he played, 
He quite succeeded in overreaching 
The cunning cur, by musical teaching, 
And put him to sleep as fast as preach- 
ing ! 

And now our musical champion, Or- 
pheus, 
Having given the janitor over to Mor- 

plieus, 
Went groping around among the ladies 
Who throng tlie dismal halls of Hades, 

Calling aloud 

To the shady crowd, 
In a voice as shrill as a martial fife, 
" Oh tell me where in hell is my wife ! " 
(A natural question, 't is very plain, 
Although it may sound a little pro- 
fane.) 

" Eurydice ! Eu-ryd-i-ce ! " 
He cried as loud as loud could be, — 
(A singular sound, and funny withal. 
In a place where nobody rides at all!) 

" Eurydice ! — Eurydice ! 
Oh come, my dear, along with me ! " 
And then he pla3-ed so remarlcably fine 
That it really might be called divine, — 

For who can show. 

On earth or below. 
Such wonderful feats in the musical 
line 1 

E'en Tantalus ceased from trying to 

sip 
The cup that flies from his arid lip ; 
Ixion, too, the magic could feel, 
And, for a moment, blocked his wheel; 
Poor Sisyphus, doomed to tumble and 

toss 
The notable stone that gathers no moss, 



JUPITER AND DANAE. 



237 



Let go his burden, and turned to hear 
The charming sounds that ravished his 

car ; 
And even the Furies, — those terrible 

shrews 
Whom no one before could ever 

amuse, — 
Those strong-bodied ladies with strong- 
minded views 
Whom even the Devil would doubtless 

refuse, 
Were his Majesty only permitted to 

choose, — 
Each felt for a moment her nature desert 

her, 
And wept lil;e a girl o'er the " Sorrows 

of Werther." 

And still Sir Orpheus chanted his 

song, 
Sweet and clear and strong and long, 

" Eurydice ! — Eurydice ! " 
He cried as loud as loud could be ; 
And Echo, taking up the word, 
Kept it up till the lady heard. 
And came with joy to meet her lord. 
And he led her along the infernal 

route, 
Until he had got her almost out, 
When, suddenly turning his head about 
(To take a peep at his wife, no doubt). 
He gave a groan, 
Eor the lady was gone. 
And had left him standing there all 

alone ! 
For by an oath the gods had bound 
Sir Orpheus not to look around 
Till he was clear of the sacred ground, 
If he 'd have Eurydice safe and sound ; 
For the moment he did an act so rash 
His wife would vanish as quick as a 

flash ! 



Young women ! beware, for goodness' 

sake, 
Of every sort of "sarpent snake ; " 
Eemember the rogue is apt to deceive, 
And played the deuce with Grand- 
mother Eve ! 

Young men ! it 's a critical thing to 

go 
Exactly riglit with a lady in tow; 
But when you are in the proper track. 
Just go ahead, and never look back ! 



JUPITER AND DANAE : 

OR, now TO WIN A WOMAN. 

Imperial Jove, who, with wonderful 
art, 
Was one of those suitors that always 
prevail. 
Once made an assault on so flinty a 
heart 
That he feared for a while he was 
destined to fail. 

A beautiful maiden, Miss Danae by 
name. 
The Olympian lover endeavored to 
win ; 
But she peeped from the casement when- 
ever he came. 
Exclaiming, " You 're handsome, but 
cannot come in ! " 

With sweet adulation he tickled her 
ear ; 
But stiU at her window she quietly 
sat. 
And said, though his speeches were 
pleasant to hear. 
She 'd always been used to such hom- 
age as that ! 

Then he spoke, in a fervid and raptur- 
ous strain. 
Of a bosom consuming with burning 
desire ; 
But his eloquent pleading was wholly 
in vain, — 
She thought it imprudent to meddle 
with fire ! 

Then he begged her in mercy to pity 
his case. 
And spoke of his dreadfully painful 
condition ; 
But the lady replied, with a sorrowful 
face. 
She was only a maiden, and not a 
physician ! 

In vain with these cunning conventional 
snares, 
To win her the gallant Lothario 
strove ; 
In spite of his smiles, and his tears, and 
his prayers. 
She could n't, she would n't, be 
courted by Jove ! 



238 



RICHARD OF GLOSTER. 



At last he contrived, — so the story is 
told, — 
By some means or other, one evening, 
to pour 
Plump into her apron a shower of gold, 
Which opened her heart, — and un- 
bolted her door ! 



Hence suitors may learn in matters of 
love 
'T is idle in manners or merit to 
trust ; 
The only sure way is to imitate Jove, — 
Just open your purse, and come down 
with the dust. 



VENUS AND VULCAN: 

OR, THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED. 

When the peerless Aphrodite 
First appeared among her kin, 

What a flutter of excitement 
All the goddesses were in ! 

How the gods, in deep amazement, 
Bowed before the Queen of Beauty, 

And in loyal adoration 
Proffered each his humble duty ! 

Plicebus, first, to greet her coming, 
Met her with a grand oration ; 

Mars, who ne'er before had trembled, 
Showed the plainest trepidation ! 

Hermes fairly lost his cunning. 
Gazing at the new Elysian ; 

Plutus quite forgot his money 
In the rapture of his vision ! 

Even Jove was deeply smitten 
(So the Grecian poets tell us), 

And, as might have been expected, 
Juno was extremely jealous ! 

Staid Minerva thought her silly ; 

Chaste Diana called her vain ; 
But not one of all the ladies 

Dared to say that she was " plain " ! 

Surely such a throng of lovers 
Never mortal yet could boast ; 

Everywhere throughout Olympus 
" Charming Venus ! " was the toast ! 



Even Vulcan, lame and ugly. 

Paid the dame his awkward court; 

But the goddess, in derision. 
Turned his passion into sport ; 

Laughed aloud at all his pleading. 
Bade him wash his visaiie sooty, 

And go wooing with the Harpies, 
What had he to do with Beauty ? 

Well — how fared it with the goddess 1 
Sure, the haughty queen of love. 

Choosing one to suit her fancy. 
Married Phoebus, Mars, or Jove ? 

No ! — at last — as often happens 
To coquettes of lower station — 

Venus found herself neglected, 
With a damaged reputation ; 

And esteeming any husband 

More desirable than none. 
She was glad to marry Vulcan 

As the best that could be done ! 



Hence you learn the real reason, 
Which your wonder oft arouses, 

Why so many handsome women 
Have such very ugly spouses ! 



RICHARD OF GLOSTER. 

A TRAVESTY. 

Perhaps, my dear boy, you may never 
have heard 

Of that wicked old monarch, King 
Richard the Third, — 

Whose actions were often extremely 
absurd ; 
And who lived such a sad life, 
Such a wanton and mad life ; 

Indeed, I may say, such a wretchedly 
bad life, 

I suppose I am perfectly safe in declar- 
ing. 

There was ne'er such a monster of in- 
famous daring. 

In all sorts of crime he was wholly un- 
sparing ; 

In pride and ambition was quite be- 
yond bearing ; 

And had a bad habit of cursing and 
swearing. 



RICHARD OF GLOSTER. 



239 



I must own, my dear boy, I have more 
than suspected 

The King's education was rather neg- 
lected ; 

And that at your school with any two 
" Dicks'" 

Whom your excellent teacher diurnally 
pricks 

In his ueat little tables, in order to 
fix 

Each pupil's progression witli numeral 
uicks, 

Master Richard Y. Gloster would often 
have heard 

His standing recorded as "Eichard — 
the third!" 

But whatever of learning his Majesty 
had, 

'T is clear the King's English was 
shockingl}' bad. 
At the slightest pretense 
Of disloyal offense. 

His anger exceeded all reason or sense ; 

And, having no need to foster or nurse 
it, he 

Would open his wrath, then, as if to 
disperse it, he 

Would scatter his curses like College 
degrees ; 
And, quite at his ease. 
Conferred his " d-d 's," 

As plenty and cheap as a young Uni- 
versity ! 

And yet Eichard's tongue was remark- 
ably smooth. 

Could utter a lie quite as easy as 
truth 

(Another bad habit he got in his youth), 

And had, on occasion, a powerful bat- 
tery 

Of plausible phrases and eloquent flat- 
tery, 

Which gave him, my boy, in that bar- 
barous day 

(Things are different now, I am happy 
to say). 

Over feminine hearts a most perilous 
sway. 

The women, in spite of an odious 
hump 

Which he wore on his back, all thought 
him a triimj) ; 

And just when he 'd played them the 
scurviest trick, 

They 'd swear in their hearts that this 
crooked old stick, — 

This treacherous, dangerous, dissolute 
Dick, 



For honor and virtue beat Cato all hol- 
low ; 

And in figure and face was another 
Apollo ! 

He murdered their brothers, 
And fathers and mothers ; 
And, worse than all that, he slaughtered 

by dozens 
His own royal uncles and nephews and 

cousins ; 
And then, in the cunningest sort of ora- 
tions. 
In smooth conversations, 
And flattering ovations. 
Made love to the principal female rela- 
tions ! 
'T was very improper, my boy, you must 

know, 
Eor the son of a King to behave himself 

so ; 
And you '11 scarcely believe what the 
chronicles show 
Of his wonderful wooings, 
And infamous doings; 
But here 's an exploit tliat he certainly 
did do, — 
Killed his own cousin Ned, 
As he slept in his bed, 
And married, next day, the disconsolate 
widow ! 

I don't understand how such ogres 
arise. 

But beginning, perhaps, with things lit- 
tle in size, 

Such as torturing beetles and blue-bot- 
tle-flies. 

Or scattering snuff in a poodle-dog's 
eyes, — 

King Eichard had grown so wantonly 
cruel. 

He minded a murder no more than a 
duel ; 

He 'd indulge, on the slightest pretense 
or occasion. 

In his favorite amusement of decapita- 
tion, 
Until " Off with his head ! " 
It is credibly said, 

From his Majesty's mouth came as easy 
and pat 

As from an old constable, " Off with his 
hat ! " 
One really shivers, 
And fairly quivers. 

To think of the treatment of Grey and 
Rivers 



240 



RICHARD OF GLOSTER. 



And Hastin!:;:s and Vaughn and other 
good livers. 

All suddenly sent, at the tap of a drum, 

Erom the Kingdom of England to King- 
dom-Come ! 

Of Buckingham doomed to a tragical end 

For being the tyrant's particular friend ; 

Of Clarence who died, it is mournful to 
think, 

Of wine that he was n't permitted to 
drink ; 

And the beautiful babies of royal blood. 

Two httle White Roses both nipt in the 
bud ; 

And silly Queen Anne, — what sorrow 
it cost her 

(And served her right!) for daring to 
foster 

The impudent suit of this Richard of 
Gioster, 

Who, instead of conferring a royal gra- 
tuity, 

A dower, or even a decent Anne-mtj, 

Just gave her a portion of — something 
or other 

That made her as quiet as Pharaoh's 
mother 1 

Ah Richard ! you're going it quite too 

fast ; ■ 
Your doom is slow, but it 's coming at 
last ; 
Your bloodj' crown 
Will topple down, 
And you '11 be done uncommonly brown ! 
Your foes are thick, 
My daring Dick, 
And Richmond, a prince, and a regular 

brick, 
Is after you now with a very sharp stick ! 

On Bosworth field the armies to-night 
Are pitching their tents in each other's 

sight ; 
And to-morrow ! to-morrow ! they 're 

going to fight ! 
And now King Richard has gone to bed ; 
But e'en in his sleep 
He cannot keep 
The past or the future out of his head. 
In his deep remorse 
Each mangled corse 
Of all he had slain, — or, what was 

worse. 
Their ghosts, — came up in -terrible 

force. 
And greeted his ear with unpleasant 
discourse, 



Until, with a scream, 
He woke from his dream, 
And shouted aloud for " another horse ! " 

Perhaps you may think, my little dear, 
King Richard's request was rather 

queer ; 
But I '11 presently make it exceedingly 

clear : — 
The eoyal sleeper was overfed! 
I mean to say that, against his habit, 

He 'd eaten Welsh-rabbit 
With very bad whiskey on going to bed. 
I 've had the Night-Mare with horrible 

force, 
And much prefer a different horse ! 

But see ! the murky night is gone ! 
The Morn is up, and the Fight is on ! 
The Knights are engaging, the warfare 

is waging, 
On the right, on the left, the battle is 

raging ; 
King Richard is down ! 
Will he save his crown 1 
There 's a crack in it now ! — he 's be- 
ginning to bleed ! 
Aha ! King Richard has lost his steed ! 
(At a moment like this 'tis a terrible 

need !) 
He shouts aloud with thundering force, 
And offers a very high price for a horse, 
But it 's all in vain, — the battle is 

done, — 
The day is lost ! — and the day is 

won ! — 
And Richmond is King ! and Richard's 

a corse ! 



Remember, my boy, that moral enormi- 
ties 

Are apt to attend corporeal deformities. 

Whatever you have, or whatever you 
lack, 

Beware of getting a crook in your back ; 

And, while you 're about it, I 'd very 
much rather 

You 'd grow tall and superb, i. e. copy 
your father ! 

Don't learn to be cruel, pray let me ad- 
vise, 

By torturing beetles and blue-bottle- 
flies, 

Or scattering snufF in a poodle-dog's 
eyes. 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR. 



241 



If you ever should marry, remember to 
wed 

A handsome, plump, modest, sweet- 
spoken, well-bred, 

And sensible maiden of twenty, — in- 
stead 

Of a widow whose husband is recently- 
dead ! 

If you 'd shun in your naps those hor- 
rible Licubi, 

Beware what you eat, and be careful 
what drink you buy; 

Or else you may see, in your sleep's 
perturbations, 

Some old and uncommonly ugly rela- 
tions, 

Who '11 be very apt to disturb your nu- 
tations 

By unpleasant allusions and rude obser- 
vations ! 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR. 

KoMANCES of late are so wretchedly 

poor, 
Here goes for the old one : — Othello, 

the Moor; 
A warrior of note, and by no means a 
boor. 
Though the skin on his face 
Was as black as the ace 
Of spades : or (a simile nearer the case) 
Say, black as the Deuce ; or black as a 

brace 
Of very black cats in a very dark place ! 
That 's the German idea ; 
But how he could be a 
Regular negro don't seem very clear; 
For Horace, you know, 
A great while ago, 
Put a sentiment forth which we all must 

agree to : 
" Hie nif/er est ; hunc tu, Romane, 

caveto ! " 
(A nigger's a rascal that one ought to 
see to.) 
I rather, in sooth, 
Think it nearer the truth 
To take the opinion of young Mr. 
Booth, 
Who makes his Othello 
A grim-looking fellow 
Of a color compounded of lamp-black 

and yellow. 
Now Captain Othello, a true son of 
Mars, 

16 



The foe being vanquished, returned 

from the wars, 
All covered with ribbons, and garters, 

and stars. 
Not to mention a score of magnificent 
scars ; 
And calling, one day. 
In a neighborly way, 
On Siguor Brabantio, — one of the men 
Who figured in Venice as Senator 
then, — 
Was invited to tell 
Of all that befell 
Himself and his friends while campaign- 
ing so well, 
From the time of his boyhood till now 

he was grown 
The greatest of Captains that Venice 
had known. 
As a neighbor should do, 
He ran it quite through, 
(I would n't be bail it was all of it 

true), 
Recounting, with ardor, such trophies 

and glories. 
Among Ottoman rebels and Cyprian 

tories, 
Not omitting a parcel of cock-and-bull 

stories, — 
That he quite won the heart of the 

Senator's daughter, 
Who, like most of the sex, had a passion 
for slaughter : 
And was wondrously bold 
In battles, — as told 
By brilliant romancers, who picture in 

gold 
What, in its OAvn hue, you 'd be shocked 
to behold. 

Now Captain Othello, who never had 

known a 
Young lady so lovely as " Fair Des- 

demona," 
Not even his patroness, Madam Hel- 

lona, — 
Was delighted, one day, 
At hearing her say, 
Of all men in the world he 'd the charm- 
ingest way 
Of talking to women ; and if any one 

should, 
(Tho' she did n't imagine that any one 

would, — 
For where, to be sure, was another who 

could 1) 
But if — and suppose — a lover came to 

her, 



242 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR. 



And told her his story, 't would certainly 
woo her. 
With so lucid a hint, 
The dickens were in 't, 

If he could n't have read her as easy as 
print ; 

And thus came of course, — but as to 
the rest, — 

The hilling and cooing I leave to be 
guessed, — 

And how, when their passion was fairly 
confessed. 

They sent for a parson to render them 
" blest," — 

Although it was done, I am sorry to say, 

In what Mrs. P. — had it happened to- 
day- 
Would be likely to call a clamdestiny 
way ! 
I cannot recount 
One half the amount 

Of curses that burst from his cardiac 
fount 

When Signor Brabantio learned that the 
Moor 

Had married his daughter : " How dared 
he to woo her ? 

The sooty-skinned knave, — thus to 
blight and undo her 1 

With what villanous potions the scoun- 
drelly sinner 

Must have poisoned her senses in order 
to win her ! " 
And more of the same, — 
But my language is lame, 

E'en a fishwoman's tongue were de- 
cidedly tame 

A tithe of the epithets even to name, 

Compounded of scorn and derision and 
hate. 

Which Signor Brabantio poured on 
the pate 

Of the beautiful girl's nigritudinous 
mate ! 
I cannot delay 
To speak of the way 

The matter was settled; suffice it to 
say 

'T was exactly the same as you see in a 
play, 

Where the lady persuades her affection- 
ate sire 

That the fault was her own, — which 

softens his ire, 
And, though for a season extremely 
annoyed. 

At last he approves — what he cannot 
avoid ! 



Philosophers tell us 
A mind like Othello's — 
Strong, manly, and brave — is n't apt to 
be jealous ; 
But now, you must know, 
The Moor had a foe, 
lago, by name, who concealed with a 

show 
Of honest behavior the wickedest heart 
That Satan e'er filled Avith his treacher- 
ous art. 
And who, as n, friend. 
Was accustomed to lend 
His gifts to the most diabolical end, 
To wit, the destruction of Captain 

Othello, 
Desdemona, his wife, and an excellent 

fellow, 
One Cassio, a soldier, — too apt to get 

mellow, — 
But as honest a man as ever broke 

bread, 
A bottle of wine, or an Ottoman head. 

'T is a very long story, 
And would certainly bore ye. 

Being not very brilliant with grandeur 
or glory. 

How the Avicked lago contrived to abuse 

The gallant Othello respecting his 
views 
Of his fair lady's honor; 
Reflecting upon her 

In damnable hints, and by fragments of 
news 

About palming and presents, himself 
had invented, 

Until the poor husband was fairly de- 
mented, 

And railed at his wife, like a cowardly 
varlet. 

And gave her an epithet, — rhyming 
with scarlet, 

And prated of Cassio with virulent 
spleen. 

And called for a handkerchief some one 
had seen. 

And wanted to know what the deuce it 
could mean ? 

And — to state the case honestly — 
really acted 

In the manner that women call " rav- 
ing-distracted ! " 

It is sad to record 
How her lunatic lord 
Spurned all explanation the dame could 
afford. 



MY QUEEN. 



243 



And still kept repeating the odious 

word. 
So false, and so foul to a virtuous ear, 
That I could n't be tempted to mention 
it liere. 
'T is sadder to tell 
Of the crime that befell. 
When, moved, it would seem, by the 
demons of hell. 
He seized a knife, 
And, kissing his wife. 
Extinguished the light of her innocent 

'life ; 
And how, also, before the poor body 

was cool. 
He found he had acted as villany's 

tool, 
And died exclaiming, " O fool ! fool ! 
FOOL ! " 



Young ladies! — beware of hasty con- 
nections ; 

And don't marry suitors with swarthy 
. complexions ; 

For though they may chance to be 
capital fellows, 

Depend upon it, they 're apt to be jeal- 
ous! 

Young gentlemen! pray recollect, if 

you can, 
To give a wide birth to a meddlesome 

man ; 
And horsewhip the knave who would 

poison your life 
By breeding distrust between you and 

your wife ! 



SOKI^ETS, 



THREE LOVES. 

I HAVE known various loves of women. 
One 
Gave all her soul (she said), but kept 
intact 
Her marble lips, and ever seemed to 
shun 
Love's blandishments, as if his lightest 
act 
"Were fatal to his life. Another gave 
All luxury of love that woman's art 
Could lend in aid of Beauty's kisses — 
save 
What she, alas ! had not — a loving 
heart. 
Poor, dear, dead flowers ! One with no 
root in earth ; 
And one no breath of Heaven's sus- 
taining air; 
No marvel briefly they survived their 
birth ; 
And then my true-love came (O won- 
drous fair 
Beyond the twain!) whose soul and 
sense unite 
In perfect bloom for Love's supreme 
delia-ht. 



MY QUEEN. 

I CALL her Queen — the lady of my 
love — 
Since that in all one sceptreless may 

claim 
Of true nobility to suit the name, 
She is right royal, — and doth so ap- 

pi'ove 
My loving homage. All that painter's 
art 
And poet's fantasy delight to find 
In queenliness is hers ; the noble 
mind, 
The stately bearing, and the gracious 
heart ; 
The voice most musical, the brow se- 
rene. 
And beaming benediction — like a 
queen ! 
And oh, such peerless beauty, that, I 
swear 
(Recalling each fair face that loud 
Renown 
Hath found, or feigned, beneath a jew- 
eled crown) 
I flatter queens, to call her "queenly 
fair ! " 



244 



BEREAVEMENT. 



" WITH MY BODY I THEE WOE- 
SHIP." 

Anglican Marriage Service. 

That I adore thee, my most gracious 
queen, 
More in my spirit than ray body's 

sense 
Of thine, were such incredible pretense 
As I would scorn to utter. Thou hast 
seen 
When eyes and lips, responsive to the 
heart. 
Were bent in worship of thy lips and 
eyes, 
Until, oh bliss ! each pleasure-pulsing 
part 
Hath found its fellow iu Love's sweet 
emprise ; 
Each answering other in such eager 

wise 
As they would never cease to kiss and 
cling — 
Ah ! then meseemed amid the storm of 
sighs 
I heard thy voice exclaiming, " my 
King ! 
So may my soul be ever true to thine, 
As with thy body thou dost worship 
mine ! " 



Beneath the branches of old forest-trees 
That tower remote from steps of 

worldly men, 
Or hears his laugh far echoing down 

the glen ! 



PAN IMMORTAL. 

Who weeps the death of Pan 1 Pan is 

not dead. 
But loves the shepherds still ; * still leads 
the fauns 
In merry dances o'er the grassy lawns. 
To his own pipes ; as erst in Greece he 

led 
The sylvan games, what time the god 
pursued 
The beauteous Dryope. The Naiads 

still 
Haunt the green marge of every 
mountain rill; 
The Dryads sport in every leafy wood ; 
Pan caunot die till Nature's self decease ! 
Pull oft the reverent worshiper des- 
cries 
His ruddy face and mischief -glancing 
eyes 

* Pan curat oves, oviumque magistros. — Vik- 

GIL. 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 

TO STELLA. 

All things of beauty are not theirs alone 
Who hold the fee ; but unto him no 
less 
Who can enjoy, than unto them who 
own. 
Are sweetest uses given to possess. 
For Heaven is bountiful ; and suffers 
none 
To make monopoly of aught that 's 
fair; 
The breath of violets is not for one, 
Nor loveliness of women; all may 
share 
Who can discern ; and He who made 
the law, 
" Thou shalt not covet," gave the 
subtile power 
By which, unsinning, I may freely draw 
Beauty and fragrance from each per- 
fect flower 
That decks the wayside, or adorns the 

lea. 
Or in my neighbor's garden blooms for 
me ! 



BEREAVEMENT. 

Nay, weep not, dearest, though the 
child be dead ; 
He lives again in Heaven's unclouded 
life. 
With other angels that have early fled 
From these dark scenes of sorrow, 
sin, and strife. 
Nay, weep not, dearest, though thy 
yearning love 
Would fondly keep for earth its fair- 
est flowers, 
And e'en deny to brighter realms above 
The few that deck this dreary world 
of ours : 
Though much it seem« a wonder and a 
woe 
That one so loved should be so early 
lost, 



TO 



245 



And hallowed tears may unforbidden 
flow 
To mourn the blossom that we cher- 
ished most, 
Yet all is well ; God's good design I see, 
That where our treasure is, our hearts 
may be. 



TO MY WIFE ON HER BIRTH- 
DAY. 

What ! ty years ? — I never could 

have f!;uessed it 
By any token writ upon your brow, 
Or other test of Time, — had you 
not now, 
Just to surprise me, foolishly confessed 

it. 
Well, on your word, of course, I must 
receive it ; 
Although (to say the truth) it is, in- 
deed, 
As pi-oselytes sometimes accept a 
creed, 
While in their hearts they really don't 

believe it ! 
While all around is changed, no change 
appears. 
My darling Sophie, to these eyes of 

mine. 
In aught of thee that I have deemed 
divine, 
To mark the number of the vanished 
yeai-s, — 
The kindly years that on that face of 

thine 
Have spent their life, and, "dying, 
made no sign ! " 



TO SPRING. 

"0 VER purpdreum!" — Violet -col- 
ored Spring 
Perhaps, good poet, in your vernal 

days 
The simple truth might justify the 
phrase ; 
But now, dear Virgil, there is no such 

thing ! 
Perhaps, indeed, in your Italian clime, 
Where o'er the year, if fair report be 

true, 
Four seasons roll, instead of barely 
two, 



There still may be a verdant vernal 

time ; 
But here, on these our chilly northern 

shores, 
Where April gleams with January's 

snows, — 
Not e'en a violet buds ; and nothing 

" blows," 
Save blustering Boreas, — dreariest of 

bores. 
O ver pwpureum ' where the Spring dis- 
closes 
Her brightest purple on our lips and 

noses ! 



THE VICTIM. 

A Gallic bard the touching tale has 
told 
How once — the customary dower to 

save — 
A sordid sire his only daughter gave 
To a rich suitor, ugly, base, and old. 
The mother too (such mothers there 
have been) 
With equal pleasure heard the formal 

vow, 
"With all my worldly goods I thee 
endow," 
And gave the bargain an approving 

grin. 
Then, to the girl, who stood with droop- 
ing head, 
The pallid image of a wretch forlorn, 
Mourning the hapless hour when she 
was born, 
The Priest said, "Agnes, wilt thou this 
man wed ? " 
" Of this my marriage, holy man," 

said she, 
" Thou art the first to say a word to 
me!" 



TO . 

Thine is an ever- changing beauty ; 
now 
With that proud look, so lofty yet 

serene 
In its high majesty, thou seem'st a 
qneen, 
With all her diamonds blazing on her 

brow ! 
Anon I see — as gentler thoughts arise 



246 



CHANGE NOT LOSS. 



And mould thy features in their 

sweet control — 
The pure, white ray that lights a 

maiden's soul, 
And strngoles outward through her 

droo]iii)g eyes. 
Anon they iiash ; and now a golden light 
Bursts o'er thy beauty, like the Ori- 
ent's glow, 
Bathing thy shoulders' and thy 

bosom's snow, 
And all tlie woman beams upon my 

sight ! 
I kneel unto the queen, like knight of 

yore ; 
The maid I love ; the woman I adore ! 



TO A CLAM. 

Dum tacent cZa?Mant. 

Inglorious friend ! most confident lam 
Thy life is one of very little ease ; 
Alboit men mock "thee with their 
similes 
And prate of being " happy as a clam ! " 
What though thy shell protects thy 
fragile head 
From the sharp bailiffs of the briny 

sea? 
Thy valves are, sure, no safety-valves 
to thee, 
While rakes are free to desecrate thy 

bed, 
And bear thee off, — as foemen take 
their spoil, — 
Far from thy friends and family to 

roam ; 
Forced, like a Hessian, from thy na- 
tive home, 
To meet destruction in a foreign broil ! 
Though thou art tender, yet thy 

humllc bard 
Declares, clam ! thy case is shock- 
ing hard ! 



THE POETRAIT. 

A PRETTY picture hangs before my 

view ; 
The face, in little, of a Southern 

dame, 
To me unknown (though not unknown 

to fame) 



Save by the lines the cunning limner 

drew. 
So grandly Grecian is the lady's head, 
I took her for Minerva in disguise ; 
But when I marked the winning lips 
and eyes, 
I thought of Aphrodite, in her stead ; 
And then I kissed her calm, unanswer- 

ing mouth 
• (The picture 's mine) as any lover 
might, 
In the deep fervor of a nuptial night, 
And envied him who, in the " Sunny- 
South," 
Calls her his own whose shadow can 

impart 
Such very sunshine to a Northern 
heart ! 



SOMEWHERE. 

Somewhere — somewhere a happy 
clime there is, 
A land that knows not unavailing 
woes, 

Where all the clashing elements of this 
Discordant scene are hushed in deep 
repose. 

Somewhere — somewhere (ah me, that 
land to win!) 
Is some bright realm, beyond the 
farthest main, 

Where trees of Knowledge bear no fruit 
of sin. 

And buds of Pleasure blossom not in 
pain. 

Somewhere — somewhere an end of 
mortal strife 
With our immortal yearnings ; never- 
more 

The outer warring with the inner life 
Till both are wretched. Ah, that 
happy shore ! 

Where siiines for aye the soul's re- 
fulgent sun, 

And life is love, and love and joy are 
one ! 



CHANGE NOT LOSS. 

I DEEM to love and lose by love's decay 
In either breast, or Fate's unkindly 

cross, 
Is not, perforce, irreparable loss 



MISERERE. 



247 



Unto the larger. There may come a 
<iay, 
Changing for precious gold Affection's 
dross, 
When the great heart that sorely sighed 
to say 
" Farewell !" unto the late-departed 
guest 
(The transient tenant of an idle breast) 
Shall, through the open portal, .wel- 
come there 
A worthier than he who barred the 

place 
Against the loitering lord, whose regal 
face 
And princely step proclaim the lawful 
heir 
Arrived — ah, happy day ! — to fill 

the throne 
By royal right divine his very own ! 



A LA PENSf:E. 

Come to me, dearest ! Oh, I cannot bear 
These barren words of worship that 

to each 
The other utters. In the finer speech 
Of soft caresses let our souls declare 
Their opulence of love ; for while instead 
We linger prattling, kind Occasion 

slips, 
Leaving to pensive sighs the pallid 
lips 
That else for pleasure had been ruby 

red. 
Thanks ! darling, thanks ! Ah, happier 
than a king 
In all beatitude of royal bliss 
Is he whose mouth (again ! oh perfect 
kiss!) 
May thus unto thine own with rapture 
cling ; 
For very joy of love content to live 
Unquestioning if Love have more to 
give ! 



ABSENCE. 

Absent from thee, beloved, I am pent - 

In utter solitude, where'er I be ; 
My wonted pleasures give me small con- 
tent 
Wanting the highest, — to be shared 
by thee. 



Eeading, — I deem I misemploy my 
eyes. 
Save in the sweet perusal of thine 
own; 
Talking, — I mind me, with enamoured 
sighs. 
What finer use my moving lips have 
known 
When (as some kind orchestral instru- 
ment 
Takes up the note the singer failed to 
reach) 
Uncounted kisses rapturously lent 
The finished meaning to my halting 
speech ; 
Remembering this, I fondly yearn for 

thee. 
And cry, " Time ! haste I bring i^y 
love to me ! " 



BIENVENUE. 

Thkice welcome day that ends the 
weary night 
Of love in absence. Hush, my throb- 
bing heart ! 
I hear her step, -^ she comes ! who 
now can part 
The happy twain whose soul and sense 

unite 1 
Oh, cap it be ? Is this no mocking 
dream ? 
Nay, by these clasping hands, that fer- 
vent kiss, 
( Honey Hybla ! ) and by this , and this, 
I Imow thee for my own. Ah ! now I 
deem 
The gods grow envious of an earthly 
bliss 
That dims Elysian raptures, and I seem 
More blest than blest Endymion ; for 
he 
Saw not his love, while I, with doting 
eyes. 
Oh joy ineffable ! do gaze on thee. 
Whose circling arms enclose my Para- 
dise ! 



MISERERE. 

I THINK the pity of this earthly life 
Is love : so sighs a singer of the day, 
Whose pensive strain my sympathetic 
lay 

Sadly prolongs. Alas ! the endless strife 



248 



THE GRATEFUL PREACHER. 



Of love's sweet law with cold conven- 
tion's rales ; 
The loving souls unloved ; the perfect 

mate, 
After long years of yearning, found — 
too late ! 
The treason of false friends ; the frown 

of fools ; 
The fear that baffles bliss in beauty's 
arms ; 
The weariness of absence ; and the 

dread 
Of lover — or of love — untimely 
dead ! — 
Musing on these, and all the direful 
harms 
That hapless human hearts are 

doomed to prove, 
I think the pity of this life is love ! 



AQUINAS AND THE BISHOP. 

Increase of worldly wealth is not al- 
way 
With growth in grace in Haanifest 

accord ; 
.So quaint Aquinas hinted to my lord 
The bishop, when, upon a certain day, 
Surprised while counting o'er his am- 
ple hoard 
Of shining ducats in a coffer stored. 
The prelate said, " The time, you see, 
has gone 
When dear old Mother Church was 
forced to say, 
{Acts second) ' Gold and silver have 1 
none ! ' " 
" Ah ! " quoth Aquinas, shrewdly, 
" so I find ; 
But that, your Grace, was in the purer 
age. 
The very same, be pleased to bear in 
mind. 
When with her foes brave battle she 
could wage. 
And say to sordid Satan, 'Get be- 
hind ! ' " 



THE DILEMMA. 

Two fashionable women, rather gay 
Than wise, were bosom friends for 

many a year. 
And called each other darling, duck, < 
> . and dear, 



As lovers do, — till, one unlucky day, 
The younger, falling into sad disgrace 
(An old suspicion blackening into 

proof), 
Her cautious crony coldly kept aloof. 
And, for a time, discreetly hid her face. 
Meeting at last, the injured lady cries, 
" Is this the way you cherish and de- 
fend 
The wounded honor of your dearest 
friend 1 " 
" Of course I knew," the timid dame 
replies, 
" The tale was false, — but then what 

could I do ? — 
I have n't character enough for two ! '^ 



THE PAEVENUE'S OPINION. 

Novus, whose silly claim to " high posi- 
tion " 
Is gentiine, if wealth can make it true ; 
A youth whose stock — petrolean, not 
patrician — 
Shines none the less for being fresh 
and new, — 
Standing before a flaming placard sees. 
Announcing thus the lecture of the 
night. 
By Everett, — " The Age of Pericles ! " 
Novus, half doubting if he reads 
aright. 
Repeats the words ( soliloquizing loud) 
" The Age of Pericles ! — I wonder 
now 
Why such a theme should gather all 
this crowd 
That throngs the croor with such a 
mighty row ; 
There is n't one among 'em, I '11 engage. 
Who cares a Jig about the fellow's age ! " 



THE GRATEFUL PREACHER. 

A STROLLING prcaclicr, " once upon a 
time," 
Addressed a congregation rather slim 
In numbers, — yet his subject was sub' 
lime 
('T was "Charity"); sonorous was 
the hymn, 
Fervent the prayer ; and though the 
house was small. 
He pounded lustily the Sacred Word, 



A COMMON ALTERNATIVE. 



249 



And preached an hour as loud as he 
could bawl, 
As one who meant the Gospel should 
be heard. 
And now, behold, the preacher's hat is 
sent 
Among the pews for customary pence. 
But soon returns as empty as it went ! — 
Whereat, — low bowing to the au- 
dience, — 
He said, " My preaching is not all in 

vain ; 
Thank God! I've got my heaver^ hack 
again ! " 



THE AMBITIOUS PAINTER. 

A PAINTER once — 't was many years 
ago — 
Gave public notice it was his intent 



To change his style of art ; and that 
he meant 
" Henceforth to paint like Michael 

Angelo ' " 
The artist's scheme was sensible, no 
doubt, 
But still his pictures, though he 

thought them fine, 
Remained so poor in color and de- 
sign, 
His plan seemed rather hard to carry 

out. 
By every common amateur surpassed, 
The people laughed, as well enough 

they might, 
To see the fellow, in ambition's spite. 
Go on a wretched dauber to the last ! 
To rival Genius in her great inven- 
tions 
Needs (that 's the moral) more than 
good intentions ! 



EPIGEAMS, 



THE EXPLANATION, 

Charles, discoursing rather freely 

Of the unimportant part 
Which (he said) our clever women 

Play in Science and in Art, 
" Ah ! — the sex you undervalue ; " 

Cried his lovely cousin Jane. 
" No, indeed ! " responded Charley, 

" Pray allow me to explain ; 
Such a paragon is woman. 

That, you see, it must be true 
She is always vastly better 

Than the best that she can do ! " 



FAMILY QUARRELS. 

" A FOOL," said Jeanette, " is a creature 
I hate ! " 
"But hating," quoth John, "is im- 
moral ; 
Besides, my dear girl, it 's a terrible 
fate 
To be found in a family quarrel ! 



TEACHING BY EXAMPLE. 

" What is the ' Poet's License,' say ? " 

Asked rose-lipped Anna of a poet. 
" Now give me an example, pray. 

That when I see one I may know it." 
Quick as a flash he plants a kiss 

Where perfect kisses always fall. 
" Nay, sir ! what liberty is this "? " 

" The Poet's License, — that is all ! " 



A COMMON ALTERNATIVE. 

" Say, what 's to be done with this win- 
dow, dear Jack ? 

The cold rushes through it at every 
crack." 
Quoth John: "I know little of car- 
penter-craft, 

But I think, my dear wife, you will have 
to go through 

The verv same process that other folks 
do,— 
That is, you must list or submit to the 
draught ! " 



250 



LUCUS A NON. 



A PLAIN CASE. 

"When Tutor Thompson goes to bed, 
That very moment, it is said, 
Tlie cautious man puts out the light. 
And draws the curtain snug and tight. 
You marvel much why this should be, 
But when his spouse you chance to see, 
What seemed before a puzzling case 
Is plain as — Mrs. Thompson's face ! 



OVEE-CANDID. 

Bouncing Bess, discoursing free. 

Owned, with wondrous meekness. 
Just one fault (what could it be ?) 

One peculiar weakness ; 
She in candor must confess 

Nature failed to send her 
Woman's usual tenderness 

Toward the other gender. 
Poolish Bessie ! — thus to tell ; 

Had she not confessed it, 
Not a man who knows her well 

Ever would have guessed it ! 



NBVEE TOO LATE TO MEND. 

" Here, wife," said Will, " I pray you 

devote 
Just half a minute to mend this coat. 
Which a nail has chanced to rend." 
" 'T is ten o'clock ! " said his drowsy 

mate. 
" I know," said Will, " it is rather 

late; 
But 't is ' never too late to mend ' ! " 



AN EQUIVOCAL APOLOGY. 

Quoth Madam Bas-bleu, " I hear you 
have said 
Intellectual women are always your 

dread ; 
Now tell me, dear sir, is it true ? " 
" Why, yes," answered Tom, " very 

likely I may 
Have made the remark, in a jocular 
way ; 
But then, on my honor, I did n't mean 
you ! " 



TOO CANDID BY HALE. 

As Tom and his wife were discoursing 
one day 
Of their several faults, in a bantering 

way. 
Said she : " Though my writ you dis- 
parage, 
I 'm sure, my dear husband, our friends 

will attest 
This much, at the least, that mj judg- 
ment is best." 
Quoth Tom, "So they said at our 
marriage ! " 



ON A KECENT CLASSIC CON- 
TEOVEESY. 

Nat, marvel not to see these scholars 
fight, 
In brave disdain of certain scath and 
scar; 
'T is but the genuine old Hellenic 
spite, — 
" When Greek meets Greek, then 
comes the tug of war ! " 



Quoth David to Daniel, " Why is it 
these scholars 
Abuse one another whenever they 
speak 1 " 
Quoth Daniel to David, "It nat'rally 
f oilers ~ 
Eolks come to* hard words if they 
meddle with Greek ! " 



LUCUS A NON. 

You '11 oft find in books, rather ancient 

than recent, 
A gap in the page marked with " cetera 

desunt" 
By which you may commonly take it 

for granted 
The passage is wanting without being 

wanted ; 
And may borrow, besides, a significant 

hint 
That desunt means simply not decent to 

print ! 



TO A POETICAL CORRESPONDENT. 



251 



A CANDID CANDID ATB.29 

When John was contending (though 
sure to be beat) 

In the annual race for the Governor's 
seat, 

And a crusty old fellow remarked, to 
his face. 

He was clearly too young for so lofty a 
place, — 

" Perhaps so," said John ; " but con- 
sider a minute ; 

The objection will cease by the time I 
am in it ! " 



NEMO REPENTE TURPISSIMUS, 

Bob Sawyer to a man of law 
Repeating once the Roman saw, 
" Nemo repente " — and the rest. 
Was answered thus : " Well, I protest. 
However classic your quotation, 
I do not see the application." 
" 'T is plain enough," responded Saw- 
yer: 
" It takes three years to make a law- 
yer ! " 



ON AN ILL-READ LAWYER. 

An idle attorney besought a brother 
For something to read, — some novel or 
other. 

That was really fresh and new. 
" Take Chitty ! " replied his legal friend, 
" There is n't a book that I could lend 

Would prove more novel to you ! " 



CONJURGIUM NON CONJUGIUM. 

Dick leads, it is known, with his vixen- 
ish wife, 

In spite of their vows, such a turbulent 
life. 

The social relation of Dick and his 
mate 

Should surely be written The Conjurgal 
State ! 



CHEAP ENOUGH. 

They 've a saying in Italy, pointed and 

terse, 
That a pretty girl's smiles are the tears 

of the purse. 
" What matter ? " says Charley, " Can 

diamonds be cheap ? 
Let lovers be happy, though purses 

should weep ! " 



ON AN UGLY PERSON SITTING 
FOR A DAGUERREOTYPE. 

Here Nature in her glass — the wanton 
elf — 

Sits gravely making faces at herself ; 

And, while she scans each clumsy fea- 
ture o'er, 

Repeats the blunders that she made be- 
fore! 



ON A FAMOUS WATER-SUIT. 

My wonder is really boundless, 

That among the queer cases we try, 

A land case should often be groundless, 
And a water-case always be dry ! 



KISSING CASUISTRY. 

When Sarah Jane, the moral Miss, 
Declares 't is very wrong to kiss, 

I '11 bet a shilling I see through it ; 

The damsel, fairly understood, 

Feels just as any Christian should, — 
She 'd rather suffer wrong than do it ! 



TO A POETICAL CORRESPOND- 
ENT. 

Rose hints she is n't one of those 
Who have the gift of writing prose ; 
But poetry is une autre chose, 
And quite an easy thing to Rose ! 
As if an artist should decline. 
For lack of skill, to paint a sign. 
But, try him i]i the landscape line, 
You '11 find his genius quite divine ! 



252 



MAIDEN MANNERS. 



ON A LONG-WINDED ORATOK, 

Three Parts compose a proper speech 
(So wise Quintilian's maxims teach), 
But Loquax never can get through, 
In Jiis orations, more than two. 
He does n't stick at the "Beginning ; " 
His " Middle " comes as sure as sin- 
ning; 
Indeed, the whole one might com- 
mend, 
Could he contrive to make an " End! " 



THE THREE WIVES. 

A JUBILATION. 

My First was a lady whose dominant 

passion 
Was thorough devotion to parties and 

fashion ; 
My Second, regardless of conjugal duty, 
Was only the worse for her wonderful 

beauty ; 
My Third was a vixen in temper and 

life, 



Without one essential to make a good 

wife. 
Jubilate ! at last in my freedom I revel. 
For I 'm clear of the World, and the 

Flesh, and the Devil ! 



THE LOST CHARACTER, 

Julia is much concerned, God wot. 
For the good name — she has n't get ; 
So mortgagors are often known 
To guard the soil they deem their own. 
As if, forsooth, they did n't know 
The land was forfeit long ago. 



A DILEMMA. 

" Whenever I marry," says masculine 

Ann, 
" I must really insist upon wedding a 

man 1 " 
But what if the man (for men are but 

human) 
Should be equally nice about wedding a 

woman ? 



EPIGEAMS. 



FROM THE LATIN OF MARTIAL. 



IN FAVOR OF MAKING NEW 
FRIENDS. 

(ad puscum.) 

You, worthy man, whose noble life 

commends 
Your generous heart and gives you 

many friends. 
If in your breast a place there yet may 

be 
For one friend more, oh, give that place 

to me ! 
Reject me not because I am not proved ; 
Till they were known, not one of all 

was loved ; 



New as I am, — the trial fairly past, — 
I '11 prove, perhaps, " a good old friend," 
at last ! 



MAIDEN MANNERS. 

(ad placcum.) 

" Which like you best," my friend in- 
quires, 

" A maid extremely bold or shy 1 " 
No man of sense, I think, admires 

A leering or a lowering eye. 
For me, the juste milieu I seek ; 

I fain would leave alone 



ON A LITIGIOUS MAN. 



253 



The girl who rudely slaps my cheek 
Or volunteers her own ! 



ON A NIGGARDLY FELLOW. 

(ad c^cilanum.) 

A WEALTHY old fellow whose table was 
bare 
Of meats that were less than a week 
or two old, 
One day, when a friend was invited to 
share 
A remnant of mutton both scraggy and 
cold. 
Inquired of his guest how to manage 
his ice, 
And where should he keep it ? " Why, 
keep it, by Jove ! " 
Retorted the friend, " since you ask my 
advice, — 
Keep your ice in your kitchen — shut 
up in your stove ! " 



ON A MISER. 

(ad cinnam.) 

If it be true, as grave historians say. 
That, just by sipping poison every day, 
King Mithridates grew at last to be 
Quite poison-proof, 't is plain enough to 

see 
Your style of dining makes it mighty 

clear 
Death by starvation you 've no cause to 

fear! 



ON A CRITIC. 

(ad AtrCTUM.) 

A BROTHER scribbler calls my verses 

wrong 
In point of art ; small merit he can see. 
Well, since my readers like my simple 

song. 
That, I am sure, is quite enough for 

me; 
The man who gives a public dinner 

looks 
To please his guests, not other people's 

cooks ! 



ON A QUIBBLING SUPPLICANT. 
(de marone.) 

Maro's dear friend was sick, and like to 
take 

A trip, untimely, o'er the Stygian 
lake; 

So Maro vowed, if Heaven would kindly 
spare 

His crony's life, in answer to his 
prayer. 

He 'd build a church, to show his grati- 
tude. 

The friend gets well. Quoth Maro, 
" I conclude, 

Since prayers alone so perfectly suc- 
ceed. 

Of building churches there is little 
need ! " 



ON A COXCOMB. 

(in eperontem.) 

YoTJR nose and eyes your father gave, 
you say ; 
Your mouth, your grandsire ; and 
your mother meek. 
Your fine expression. Tell me, now, I 
pray. 
Where, in the name of Heaven, you 
got your cheek ! 



ON A QUACK DOCTOR. 
(in malum medicum.) 

Phlebotamus, a quack before, 
Seeks now a soldier's fame ; 

A change of title, — nothing more, 
His trade is still the same ! 



ON A LITIGIOUS MAN. 
(in garglianttm.) 

What ! twenty years at law, my friend ! 

Why did n't you contrive 
To save your skin and make an end, 

By getting beat in five 1 



254 



ON A RICH MAN'S COUNTRY-SEAT. 



TO A BORROWING FRIEND. 

(ad faustinum.) 

Yot: say you 're sorry that you cannot 

pay 
" That little loan you promised me to- 
day; 
I can't dispute you, since, in very sooth, 
What you aver.may be the simple truth ; 
Sorry or not, my friend, I much incline, 
To think your grief not half so deep as 
mine! 



ON A SUICIDE. 

(db fannio.) 

Poor Fannius, who greatly feared to die, 
Embraced the enemy he fain would fly. 
Strange contradiction, weary of the 

strife. 
He ceased to live from very love of life ; 
With his own hand he stops his vital 

breath ; 
Madness extreme ! — to die for fear of 

death ! 



ON CHEAP PURCHASING. 

(de bassu.) 

" See here ! " cries Bassus, in a brand- 
new coat. 

Worth, at the least, a fifty-dollar note ; 

" I got it at a bargain. Please to guess 

How much it cost. A hundred 1 Vast- 
ly less ! 

There 's not one man in twenty who can 
buy 

A coat or hat one half so cheap as I." 

" That 's true," quoth Tom ; " his surely 
is the praise 

Of buying mighty cheap — who never 
pays ! " 



ON A SPENDTHRIFT. 
(ad philomtjsum.) 

To you, while yet he lived, your father 

lent 
Two thousand pounds a month — in 

folly spent ; 



Though large the stipend, each succeed- 
ing day 

Brought fresh demands to melt the sum 
away. 

Now, all his wealth is yours without his 
care ; 

You 're disinherited by being heir ! 



TO AN UGLY WOMAN WITH A 
SWEET VOICE. 

(de vbttjla.) 

When first I met thee — in the dark 
alone — 

And heard entranced thy voice's dulcet 
tone. 

My heart was pierced with love's deli- 
cious pain ; 

But when I saw thee, I was well again ! 



THE TRUTHFUL PRETENDER. 

(de cinna.) 

CiNNA, who lives in such a splendid 
style 

That many deem him rich, still wears a 
smile 

Of mock humility, which says, "Be 
gure, 

Whatever folks may fancy, I am poor." 

Ah ! vain pretense to cheat familiar 
friends. 

Who know full well he is what he pre- 
tends ! 



ON A RICH MAN'S COUNTRY- 
SEAT. 

(in HABENTEM AM^NAS iEDES.) 

Your parks are unsurpassed in noble 
trees ; 

A finer bath than yours one seldom sees ; 

Grand is your colonnade, and all com- 
plete 

The stone mosaic underneath your feet ; 

Your steeds are fine; your hunting- 
grounds are wide, 

And gleaming fountains spout on every 
side; 



ON DINING WITH STRANGERS. 



255 



Your drawing-rooms are grand ; there 's 

nothing cheap 
Except the places where you eat and 

sleep ! 
With all the space and splendor you 

have got, 
Oh, what a charming mansion you have 

not ! 



LOVE CEOWNED. 

A MAIDEN, with a garland on her head. 

Sat in her bower between two lovers : 
one 

Wore such a wreath as hers ; the other 
none. 

But him, in merry wise, she garlanded 

With that she wore ; then, gayly, took 
instead 

The other's wreath and wore it as her 
own ; 

Whereat both smiled, each deeming she 
had shown 

Himself the favorite. Though she noth- 
ing said 

Concerning this by any spoken word. 

Yet by her act, methinks, the maid pre- 
ferred 

The lover she discrowned. A friendly 
thing 



Or whimsical — no more — the gift she 

gave 
(A queen might do as much by any 

slave), 
But he whose crown she wore was her 

heart's king. 



ON A POOR MAN OF EXTRAV- 
AGANT HABITS. 

(ad castoeem.) 

Such lavish purchases, my giddy friend, 

To thoughtful minds an auction-sale 
portend ; 

It needs no prophet, surely, to fore- 
tell, 

Who buys so much will soon have all to 
sell! 

— « — 

ON DINING WITH STRANGERS. 
(ad fabulum.) 

You bid me dine with folks unknown, 

And wonder I decline ; 
Well, when I choose to dine alone, 

I stay at home and dine 1 



NOTES. 



Note 1. Page 33. 

The tale of " Miralda " is based on 
a popular legend, of which an excellent 
prose version may be found in Ballou's 
" History of Cuba." 

Note 2. Page 36. 

This piece is an imitation of a poem 
by Praed, entitled " My Partner." 
There are two other pieces in this col- 
lection, which, in deference to certain 
critics, I ought to mention as imitations 
of the same author. There is, indeed, a 
resemblance, in the form of the stanza 
and in the antithetic style of treatment, 
to several poems of Praed ; but as both 
the metre and the method are of ancient 
date, and are fairly the property of 
whomsoever may employ them, no fur- 
ther acknowledgment seems necessary 
than that whicli is contained in this 
note. The same remark will apply to 
" The proud Miss MacBride," which is 
written in the measure, and {longo inter- 
vallo) after the manner of Hood's in- 
comparable " Golden Legend." 

Note 3. Page 64. 

" Potter, the Great Magician," — a 
clever conjurer of a former generation, 
— is still vividly remembered by many 
people in New Hampshire and Ver- 
mont. 

Note 4. Page 87. 

The first stanza of this poem I must 
credit to a fragment of an anonymous 
German song, which I found afloat in 
some newspaper. The remaining stan- 
zas are built upon the suggestion of the 
first. 

Note 5. Page 119. 

If my version of " The Ugly Aunt " 
17 



is more simple in plot than the prose 
story in the " Norske Folke-eventer," it 
certainly gains something in refinement 
by the variation. 

Note 6. Page 127. 

I 'm aware this dainty version 
Is n't quite the thing to go forth 

For the Grecian's " suggenesthai,^' 
" Ep oikematos," and so forth ; 

But propriety 's a virtue 
I 'm always bound to show forth. 

Note 7. Page 130. 

The tradition of the "Wandering Jew 
is very old and popular in every country 
of Europe, and is the theme of many 
romances in prose and verse. The old 
Spanish writers make the narrative as 
diabolical and revolting as possible ; 
while the French and Flemish authors 
soften the legend (as in the present bal- 
lad) into a pathetic story of sin, suffer- 
ing, and genuine repentance. 

Note 8. Page 140. 

This story is found in many modern 
languages. In the present version, the 
traveler is a Frenchwoman in HoUand ; 
in another, he is an Englishman in 
France ; and in a third, a Welshman in 
some foreign country. The "Welsh story 
(a poem, of which an anonymous cor- 
respondent has sent me a translation) is 
perhaps the best ; though it is impossi- 
ble to say which is the oldest. 

Note 9. Page 171. 

Of this and the following Fables 
credited to Yriarte, it is proper to say 
that they are taken from French ver- 
sions of the works of the great Spanish 
Fabulist, and therefore make no pre- 



258 



NOTES. 



tension of fidelity — whether of matter 
or manner — to the original text. I 
take occasion of this note to add, con- 
cerning other pieces in this volume, 
that, though derived directly from the 
Greek, Roman, German, and French 
originals, they are, for the most part, — 
as the scholarly reader will observe, — 
not so much translations as paraphrases, 
wherein I have endeavored to preserve 
the spirit of the author, while consult- 
ing the exigencies of an English poem 
in respect of rhyme and rhythm and 
general manner of treatment. 

Note 10. Page 204. 

" To show, for once, that Dutchmen are 
not dull." 

Pere Bouhours seriously asked " if a 
German could be a bel esprit." This 
concise question was answered by Kra- 
mer, in a ponderous work entitled Vin- 
dicice nominis Germanicce. 

Note 11. Page 206. 

" In closest girdle, reluctant Muse, 
In scantiest skirts, and lightest-stepping 
shoes." 

Imitated from the opening couplet of 
Holmes's " Terpsichore," — 

" In narrowest girdle, reluctant Muse, 
In closest frock, and Cinderella shoes. 

Note 12. Page 207. 

" ' She stoops to conquer ' in a ' Grecian 
curve.'" 

Terence, who wrote comedies a little 
more than two thousand years ago, thus 
alludes to this and a kindred custom 
then prevalent among the Roman 
girls : — 

" Virgines, quas matres student 
Demissis humeris esse, vincto corpore, 
ut graciles fiant." 

The sense of the passage may be 
given in English, with sufficient accu- 
racy, thus : — 

Maidens, whom fond maternal care has 
graced 

With stooping shoulders, and a cinct- 
ured waist. 



Note 13. Page 208. 

" Their tumid, tropes for simple ' Bun- 
combe ' made." 

Many readers, who have heard about 
" making speeches for Buncombe," may 
not be aware that the phrase originated 
as follows : A member of Congress- 
from the county of Buncombe, North 
Carolina, while pronouncing a mag- 
niloquent set-speech, was interrupted 
by a remark from the Chair that " the 
seats were quite vacant." "Never 
mind, never mind," replied the orator, 
" I 'm talking for Buncombe ! " 

Note 14. Page 208. 

" Till rising high in rancorous debate, 
And higher still in fierce, envenomed hate,'" 

" Sed jurgia prima sonare 
Incipiunt animis ardentibus ! hsec tuba 

rix£e ; 
Dein clamore pari concurritur, et vice 

teli 
Ssevit nuda manus." — Juv. Sat. xv. 

Note 15. Page 210. 
" Not uninvited to her task she came." 

This poem was written at the instance 
of the Associated Alumni of Middlebury 
College, and spoken before that Society, 
July 22, 1846. 

Note 16. Page 210. 

" No singer's trick, — conveniently/ to bring 
A sudden cough when importuned to sing." 

The caprieiousness of musical folk, 
here alluded to, is by no means peculiar 
to our times. A little before the Chris- 
tian era, Horace had occasion to scold 
the Roman singers for the same fault : — 

" Omnibus hoc vitium est cantoribus, 

inter amicos, 
Ut nunquam inducant animum cantare 

rogati ; 
Injussi nunquam desistant." — Sat. iii. 

Note 17. Page 217. 

" And hush the wail of Peter Plymley's 
Ghost." 
Rev. Sydney Smith, the English au- 



NOTES. 



259 



thor and wit, lately deceased, who, 
having speculated in Pennsylvania 
Bonds to the damage of his estate, be- 
rated "the rascally repudiators " with 
much spirit, and lamented his losses in 
many excellent jests. 

Note 18. Page 217. 

' " Unfriendly hills no longer interpose 
As stubborn walls to geographic foes, 
Nor envious streams run only to divide 
The hearts of brethren ranged on either 
side." 

" Lands intersected by a narrow frith 
Abhor each other. Mountains inter- 
posed 



Make enemies of nations, who had else 
Like kindred drops been mingled into 
one." 

Cowper. 

Note 19. Page 218. 

" Aristophanes, whose humor run 
In vain endeavor to be-' cloud ' the sun." 

An allusion to the comedy of " The 
Clouds," written in ridicule of Socrates. 

Note 20. Page 251, 

An anecdote of the gubernatorial can- 
vas in Vermont in the year 18.59. 

Let those laugh who — lose ! 



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